The Same Poisoned Tree
by vegetables
Summary: Even with moral nihilism, choosing sides is not always easy. - Steve, Sherry, Wesker, Claire.
1. Chapter One

_**The Same Poisoned Tree**_

xxxxx

**Chapter One:**

**A Lifetime in Moments**

xxxxx

Steve was gone.

It was like some kind of surreal fact that floated through her head day by day. No matter how much she thought about his death, she couldn't comprehend _why _he had to go. But, she still knew he was dead. She knew that _all too well, _yet somehow, the quick realization never ceased to make her heart tear into pieces. It was obvious she felt guilty—after all, she promised they'd escape together—but she also felt so horribly afraid of what might come next. She tried not to think about it, she tried to tell herself he was gone, and it was better than having that awful man bring Steve back as something monstrous. Maybe that possibility was what caused her to feel so conflicted. Either she lost the boy she grew to care so much about, or—

—_or he comes back to me as a Tyrant similar to Albert Wesker. What's worse?_

Claire let out a heavy sigh. She threw herself back on her bed, looking up at the plain, white ceiling. Around her, in her darkened room, where the only source of light came from the rising sun, there were various piles of manila folders scattered across the wood floor and scratched-up desk. When she turned onto her side, she saw the sun glistening over a certain file with the words _Virus Antigen _across the top.

There was a cure. She knew that already. Jill had been infected during her escape from Raccoon City. That Carlos guy—whoever the hell he was—found her the cure. But, the scientists in Raccoon had no time to perfect the antigen. If they had, all the citizens of that mid-western town would have been saved.

And, maybe then, Claire Redfield would never have been thrown into this mess.

The girl rose from her bed and began walking through her room. Her feet crushed the paper as she wandered toward the door. It was already cracked open, so she didn't have to worry about the loud creaking it normally made. She stepped into the hallway, and looked around. No one was awake yet. "No one," referring to her three roommates: Chris, Jill, and Leon. Leon had his own room right next to Claire's, but her brother and Jill shared one. There were separate beds, but Claire wasn't stupid. She knew they were sneaking into each other's singles. The thought brought a smile to her face. She was happy Chris found someone. Jill kept his temper down; she was good for him.

After Chris and her escaped from the Antarctic, he brought his little sister back to his home in Europe. There, Jill was waiting, and seemed to have stayed there for a good week without any proper food or rest. After Jill gave a ten minute speech about the nightmare she endured at Raccoon City, the other activities Umbrella was conducting and how she came to Europe to reunite with him, only to find his home abandoned, she finally realized something had happened to the siblings as well. Chris and Claire finally began their own story, and Jill seemed horribly embarrassed by her outburst and accusations.

Not even a day later, they met up with Leon in Ottawa, Canada, and rented out the very apartment complex they were in now. Looking back at it now, her adventure at Rockfort, her detour in the Antarctic, her trip back to Europe, and her move to Canada, it all seemed like events that happened eons ago. But, in reality, not even a week had gone by since she was freezing her ass off in Antarctica. Not even a week ago, Steve and her were sleeping next to each other on a plane. She remembered wishing things could always be that peaceful…

_Stop acting like a depressed teenager, _she told herself, sternly.

The Redfield made her way to the kitchen and began making some coffee. A year ago, she would've been in her cold, cold grave before drinking this garbage. But, Jill introduced her to the wonders of flavored coffee, and with the sleeping pattern Claire was on now, she needed the magic drink.

Claire hopped onto the counter, readjusting her pink socks. She was still in her nightwear, and most likely wouldn't change for the rest of the day. No one ever went anywhere. And, if they did, they threw on sweats, did their quick errand and came back in less than an hour. Their days were spent doing two things, and two things only: waiting and researching.

Researching seemed like an effortless act, but in all truth, it was not. She didn't understand a word of science, and most of the time was spent trying to reverse that fact. Oh, and she thought her days of studying that genetic mumbo-jumbo ended the day she dropped out of college. Apparently, not. She wished Rebecca Chambers was still around. She was genius, and she explained things clear enough to make anyone understand mitosis, meiosis, cell separating and whatever else they unearthed in files.

Rebecca and Carlos were both being sent to spy on Umbrella. Carlos returned to working with the UBCS, but under a new name. That Nicholai guy Jill always talked about was after this Carlos, but he needed to stay with the unit in order to find more information on Umbrella. Rebecca, on the other hand, started working with Umbrella's Paris unit as somewhat of a researcher. At first, no one wanted the young girl to go undercover, but her intelligence would please Umbrella, and meanwhile, she could give Claire and the others inside information. The whole idea Rebecca could be injecting the virus into innocent animals and humans churned everyone's stomach, but the girl claimed she was acting as an assistant, and nothing more.

"You know, your coffee is done."

Claire looked up, and saw Leon standing in the hallway. She gave him a friendly smile and watched him walk into the kitchen. He was dressed lazily—jeans and a green shirt—but at least he looked better than she did. She also noted his hair was wet, which meant he just finished taking a shower. Hopping off the counter, she poured herself a cup of coffee in a mug that read "_Life's a Beach_"in bold red letters. It had to be the lamest message ever printed on a mug, but it belonged to Chris, and everyone knew Chris was pretty lame himself.

"Why are you up so early?" he asked, reaching into the cabinet and grabbing a mug for himself.

Claire shrugged. "Insomnia, I guess."

Leon nodded and poured his coffee. "Jill and your brother keep you up all night?"

She scoffed and shoved Leon playfully in the side. "Don't give me visuals," she ordered with a grin. "So, why are _you _up so early?"

"I went for a run an hour ago. I hope I wasn't one who woke you."

"I didn't hear you. I had my headphones on for a while," she explained. She walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Over in the corner sat a desk with a computer and fax/printer resting upon the furniture. She glanced at it, seeing if perhaps a fax had been sent during the night. Nothing was there, so she guessed nor Rebecca or Carlos came up with anything new.

She grabbed the remote and clicked on the television. It was on some weird cartoon channel. She quickly switched to the local news. The bottom headlines said various things—_Child Found, Fire at 24-Hour Diner, Break-in at Drug Store_—but nothing really interested her. She wondered if the headlines would ever say something like _Umbrella Inc. Finished, _but the chance of that day coming any time soon were slim. And, it made Claire wonder if it _ever _would come.

xxxxx

_Claire…_

"C-laaai-reee…"

Was that his voice? The boy couldn't tell. If it was, why did he sound so weird? No, that wasn't the proper question. Why did he_ feel_ so weird? Maybe he should be asking himself where he was… Or where Claire was…

_Dammit, what's wrong with my head?_

He tried blinking, but he couldn't see anything either. His vision was blurry, but he could make out shapes. There was a blurry purple circle to the left and a funny looking square to his right.

He couldn't recall where he was last. He remembered Claire, remembered shooting down his father, remembered _everything_ on Rockfort; but, there was something unusual about Alfred. He was a cross-dresser and in love with his sister—what a twisted fuck!—but it was Alexia who sent chills down Steve's spine at the moment. Yes, it was certainly that Alexia Ashford woman who did something to him. She existed, much to his surprise, and she took him into a room. Somehow, he was strapped down onto a weird chair. He remembered shaking, pleading, _begging, _but she—

—_wait, no. No, no, no, no. This is all wrong. She didn't. She couldn't have. Where was Claire? Why weren't we together? Why can't I remember!_

"Who's this kid?"

"Steve Burnside."

Steve jolted. People were nearby. A male and a female. Female. Was it Claire?

He tried his voice again: "C-Claaaire…?"

"Who's Claire?" the female asked.

"Claire Redfield. Chris Redfield's sister." The man's voice was deep, but calm. Steve recognized it, but from where?

"Alfred?" he gaped out. Suddenly, another memory came back. He killed Alfred. He had to, because that sick Ashford twin would've killed Claire. The thoughts brought him back to his horrifying memories of Alexia. Did she really… _inject _him with something? He could actually feel the needle sliding inside his arm as the scene flashed through his head. He was crying.

_I'm such a wimp. What would Claire have thought if she saw me?_

Maybe these people near him were here to help. Maybe Chris _did _come to rescue them, and he brought backup from a Special Forces team.

"Where's Claire?" he asked, finally finding his full voice.

"She's not here," the man answered. "Now quit talking."

"Why, what's happening to—?" Steve was cut off when he felt something slice at his side. He let out a loud scream and began writhing. He was held down, and at that point, he realized something bad was happening. _"Let go of me!"_ he hollered, pushing the people away. He was surprised to feel the grasps fall. He did that; _he_ pushed them off. They must have been weak, because Steve certainly wasn't that powerful.

"Sedate him. He's too strong." It was the man again. Steve wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a group of feet shuffle out of whatever room he occupied.

Soon after, Steve felt a needle in his left arm. It didn't hurt, not like those pesky shots normally did. Maybe it was the fact he knew he was injected with some kind of sleeping medicine, and he was automatically starting to doze off. But, that feeling, the feeling of the _needle_, was just starting to help him remember Alexia, and… and…

Hours later, the boy reopened his eyes. This time, his vision was no longer blurred. He could see his surroundings, but nobody was around. Was this a hospital room? Why on _earth _was he here?

Steve looked down at his clothing. He was in one of those blue and white hospital gowns. Where did his prisoner clothes go?

'_She's not here.'_

The man's voice suddenly rang in his head. If Claire wasn't here, then where did she go?

He was sick of asking himself questions. He had to get up and find out why he was in this damn hospital. The room was so dull. Green sheets on his bed, green curtains over the single window, and a stupid observation window from the hallway. On either side of him were tables with various devices. There was another door to the far left of the room. He guessed it lead to the bathroom. He suddenly realized he needed to take a much-needed piss.

Climbing out of bed, he felt his bare feet touch the cold tile. He was shocked by how quickly the shudder ran through his body. He stumbled forward, landing on his knees. His side began to ache. Steve lifted up the gown to find stitches where they cut him open before. What did they do to him?

_No, not more questions, goddammit._

He was up again, mostly thanks to the bed railing. Once he was away from the bed he had to lean against the wall for support. By the time he reached the bathroom, he felt as though he were about to faint.

Something was very wrong with him.

Thankfully, there was no lid to the toilet, so Steve didn't have to bend over. When he finished he realized the mere seconds he stood with no support exhausted him. He rested his weight against the sink, clutching his side as his breathing increased.

_I have to find Claire. She's alive. I know it._

A long exhale escaped his lips. He turned around to straighten his hair, which he could just tell was disheveled and greasy. After all, he hadn't taken a shower since the day after he arrived at Rock—

—Steve let out a deafening yell at the first sight of his face. His eyes… Fucking hell, _his eyes. _A million more questions filled his head again, and at that point, he remembered everything. Alexia, the needle, the T-Veronica, the ax, his breathing stopping, his body growing into something abnormal and monstrous. He tried to _kill _Claire. But, he didn't succeed, because he recognized her beautiful face, her _voice. _Then, that stupid tentacle—which he cut simply to save Claire—backfired its attack onto him. It pierced through his body and killed him.

_Except, obviously fucking not._

_Oh, God… Why is this happening to me?_

He returned to look at his eyes. They were orange, so bright and grotesque. He was still a monster. The eyes gave it all away. But, he looked normal despite that. His skin looked a bit pale—almost gray—but it wasn't terrible. He reached to touch his face, watching himself in the mirror as he did so. His index finger tapped his right eye for a second. This was no dream.

Anger flashed through him. His hands clutched the edges of the sink, and he glared at himself in the mirror. A loud cracking sound brought his gaze down. The ceramic edge had disconnected from the sink, half of it still extruding from the wall, the other half held between his palms.

This was just like the men holding him down earlier. This… _strength._

"It's an effect from the virus,"

Steve turned around. The voice did not come from him, though he certainly was thinking the very same words.

"W-What…?" was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

There was a man standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He was tall, with broad shoulders and striking blonde hair. He was dressed in all black, but he didn't look like some ridiculous Goth. He looked like a soldier. There was something familiar about him.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.

Steve dropped the ceramic tearing, but neither looked down to watch it crumble into more pieces. "Who are you?"

"My name is Albert Wesker," he informed the russet-haired boy. "And, you're Steve Burnside."

"I... I…" He furrowed his brow, his eyes narrowing before returning to look straight at this Wesker man. "I know who I am. And, I think I know you."

"You've been in a coma for almost a complete week."

"What? _Why_?" Steve ran his hand through his hair, trying to move the bangs out of his view. "Claire… Claire, where is she? I need to find her!"

"Claire's not here. I told you that already." The man turned around and reentered the main hospital room.

Steve followed, stepping over the broken sink debris. "Something's wrong with me," he told Wesker. "I remember this crazy woman injecting me with something."

"True. It's good that you remember."

"And, I didn't hurt Claire!" he said, his tone rising. "I saved her."

"If that's what you want to call it," Wesker muttered, grabbing a clipboard. He skimmed whatever paper was there and then jotted something down.

"What is that? Let me see!" Steve tried to grab the clipboard, but the blonde held it above his reach.

"You're slow. That's not a good sign." He wrote something else on the clipboard.

"Slow?" the boy echoed. "_What's going on_? Tell me!" He felt very tired again. He rubbed his forehead. "May I sit down?"

Albert Wesker shrugged, gesturing for him to do as he pleased. Steve crawled back into his bed, and it suddenly seemed very warm. He lay all the way down instead of simply sitting. He needed it.

"Steven—or is it just _Steve_?—I should inform you of something." He readjusted his sunglasses, and the boy had to wonder why he was even wearing them. Maybe they were a prescription. "You're no longer on the Antarctic."

Steve sat up in a rush. "_Then, where is Claire_?_ Did Chris come_?Oh, God, please tell me she's okay!" His hands had somehow found their way to Wesker's shoulders. Even beneath the sunglasses, Steve could tell the man furrowed his eyebrows deeply. After removing the boy's grip, he spoke:

"Your _dear _Claire left with her brother Chris. So, yes, I suppose Redfield kept his promise. Too bad she didn't keep her promise to you."

"Promise…? What? _I'm _the one who broke the promise." Steve looked confused, but did not let his mind clarify the statement. "But, if I'm not on the Antarctic…" he trailed off, trying to get a hold of things. "Oh, God… No, _no_! You're from Umbrella! _Alexia brought me here_!" Steve began throwing his sheets off his body, trying to get out of the bed. Wesker held him down.

"Will you _shut up _and stop interrupting?" Wesker's voice was stern and serious. "I am not from Umbrella. And, Alexia is dead. She transformed into a monster, and _Chris, _well, that lucky bastard killed her. I suppose you should thank him, but I'm sure you would've liked to end her life yourself." He paused for a second, then continued. "Listen. That little tentacle ended your life, but we gave you a second chance. Right after Claire stopped sobbing and met up with Chris, my people took your body. We injected you with the G-Virus to revitalize your body function. You started breathing again, but were unconscious until yesterday afternoon. It seems your body finally accepted the virus, and—"

"The _virus_?" Steve gaped. "You mean… You mean, it's really still in me?"

"More so than it was before you died."

"_Died_?" he screamed again. "What the hell do you mean? I… I don't understand."

There was short silence, and Steve could tell Wesker was starting to lose whatever patience he had left. "You said you remembered Alexia injecting you with the virus, right?"

"Y-Yes…"

"Well, you transformed. Obviously. But, when the tentacle attacked you, it made your body revert to its human form. Do you know what a Tyrant is?"

Steve nodded. "I read something about them on Rockfort. When Claire and I were escaping, one ended up on our plane, and she—"

Wesker cut him off. "There are two kinds of Tyrants, Steve. One is the type you read about. The other is a humanoid Tyrant. Which is what I am."

"_You're _a Tyrant? How can that be? You're not mutated."

"That's the _point. _If manipulated correctly, the virus can be injected into a person with no mutation at all. If some, it's usually in the eyes." At that moment, the man removed his sunglasses.

Two revelations smacked Steve straight in the face. He tried saying something, but no words escaped him. Instead, he stared at the man's eyes, the man's beautifully orange and yellow eyes. The irises were like a cat's, which made them very different from Steve's. But, God, _the color_, it was so transpiring.Why hadn't Steve's own orange eyes mesmerized him like that?

_Duh. You were shocked. _

Then, the realization _really _hit. He looked away, and tears pressed into his own monstrous eyes.

"I'm… I'm infected." This time, there was no question. His tears fell, and he let his face collapse into his hands. "I'm infected. _Infected. _I'm a freak!" Steve swung his arms towards the nearby table, smashing the lamp and hospital telephone.

Wesker didn't even flinch. He just watched as Steve continued to smash the objects around him. By now, the boy was out of bed and knocking over the I.V. and heart-monitor machine, which hadn't even been active in the first place.

Steve then made his way into the bathroom, slamming his fist into the mirror repeatedly until dropping to his knees to continue sobbing. His knuckles were bleeding, and he just wiped the fluid on his short hospital gown. He was sure he had (and still was) indecently exposing himself to Wesker, but he didn't care. Not one bit.

Meanwhile, Wesker was keeping a poker face. He was back to standing in the doorway of the bathroom, staring at the boy in hysterics. When Steve noticed he was there, he threw himself on the man in a fit of rage. He realized he caught Wesker off guard, and smiled. He tried punching the blonde, but the man blocked almost every blow. Instead, Steve was the one who received numerous hits. He grunted, but the pain wasn't immense. Giving up, he attempted to strangle Wesker, but Wesker shoved him off his body, sending the boy flying backwards into the bathroom and hitting his head against the broken sink.

Steve gave a cry of pain, holding the fresh wounds on his back. Blood was seeping from beneath his neck, most likely cut from the uneven edges of ceramic.

"You monster…" Steve sneered, but if it sounded as weak as he thought, he knew it didn't affect the man. "Who did this to me? _Who_?" he yelled, his body trembling.

Wesker stood up, adjusting his clothing and placing his sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose. "A group of scientists, including myself."

"You? _You did this me_?You stupid bastard! Why didn't you just let me die?" He was yelling into his hands and most of his words sounded muffled. "I hate you…"

He sobbed for a few more minutes, until finally looking up. Wesker was no longer there. Steve realized how childish and foolish he must have seemed, proclaiming hate and accusations to a man he just met.

Steve grabbed a bundle of toilet paper and began cleaning his wounds. When finished, he didn't bother aiming for the trash. He simply threw the bloody tissues on the ground. When he stepped back out to the main room, Steve expected to see a billion doctors staring at him through the observation window, but no one was there. Now was his chance to make a getaway. He opened the door to the hall and peeked out. Again, no one.

His bare feet seemed to slap loudly against the floor as he ran through the halls. This didn't look like some laboratory; it actually did look like a hospital. Maybe Wesker wasn't a bad person. Maybe Umbrella injected him with the virus, too, and he really worked for an anti-Umbrella group. No, that made no sense. Why would he have people inject other victims with the virus? Victims like Steve.

"Fire escape stairs," Steve whispered, seeing the sign ahead. There was most likely an elevator somewhere around here, but it would be foolish to take it. He began running faster and faster, slamming his body against the long, horizontal door handle. Steve continued his escape. He dashed down the stairs, step after step, flight after flight. Inches away from the door labeled _Exit_,he extended his arms, ready to push it open, and—

—and then he felt something in his shoulder. Hot. Metallic. Burning.

"Stop where you're at!"

Steve searched for the voice's owner. He turned, seeing a group of a guards standing behind him. One was holding out a gun, and Steve realized he had been shot. He was too overwhelmed with excitement that he hadn't even paid attention to the blaring of the gunshot… the stomping of their feet… their warning shouts…

The boy clutched the bullet wound, but he realized it didn't hurt as much as it should have.

_The virus, _he thought.

Steve stood still as the guards started to approach. His hand was still gripped around the bloody injury, but they must have thought he had calmed down now.

_Big mistake, _he thought and swung his arm around the man's neck. He was in the middle of a scream when Steve kicked the man forward, causing him to slam into his companions. The group tumbled to the floor, and the russet-haired boy had his chance. But, when he pushed the door, it did not budge. He noticed an electronic number pad on the side and cursed loudly. There was no other option—he'd have to take the other door.

It brought him into a hallway, something almost resembling a hotel lobby. Searching for an exit, he regretted taking in the surroundings, because he already heard the guards chasing after him again.

_No, this is not happening to me, _Steve told himself. _They're not catching me. I have to get out—I have to find Claire! _

"We're giving you one final warning!" the same man shouted. "If you do not stop, we will shoot to kill."

When the man's sentence ended, Steve saw a girl. She was small, but looked about thirteen years old. She had blonde hair and was dressed in a black and white school uniform. The girl was just about to lean against a wall when Steve grabbed her by the hand and turned her to face the guards.

She let out a blaring scream, one that made even Steve cringe. He put a hand over her mouth and held her close to his chest. Her feet began flailing, kicking the air. Underneath his hand, Steve could hear her say, "Get your hands off me, you pervert!"

"Shut up!" he ordered. When the guards saw him, they all halted, and realized his plan. "I swear I'll snap her puny little neck if you make one step closer!"

"Mmmph!" the girl huffed. Her continual kicking caused her left shoe to fall off.

"Let her go," another guard warned. He raised his gun.

"Shoot me, I'll use this girl as a shield."

"You were shot with a regular bullet before. Imagine what a B.O.W. one will do."

Steve knew the B.O.W. bullets would do nothing to this little girl. He glanced from side to side, trying to see if there was any chance of making one more getaway. Both his left and right were dead-ends, and he doubted he'd be away to turn around and run without them shooting.

The guns were cocked.

"Don't waste your time with Steven."

At the sound of Wesker's voice, the girl stopped kicking. The man was standing behind the guards. Each of them turned around the face him. They lowered their guns. One said something, but Steve couldn't hear. Wesker pushed past the men and looked at the redhead.

"Let her go."

"Why?" he spat out, glaring.

"I said let her go." The blonde walked up to Steve, grabbing his wrists and pulling the grip off the girl. She fell to the floor with a loud _thud_-sound. Automatically, she stood on her feet and made great distance between herself and Steve.

"Did you really think I'd just let you escape?" Wesker wondered, slightly cocking his head.

Steve was silent.

"Where do you get off touching me like that?" the blonde girl demanded. She sounded so young and innocent. Steve knew her hateful tone wasn't a normal one.

"Sherry," Wesker said, turning to her, "get your things and leave."

"He grabbed me and tried to break my—"

"_Go, _Sherry." This time, Wesker's voice seemed angry.

The girl—Sherry—grabbed her backpack and shuffled off to the staircase where Steve came from.

Wesker looked back at Steve. "Using Sherry as a shield was hardly smart."

"I'm sorry I touched your pure, innocent daughter." Steve straightened out his hospital gown. God, he felt like such a pansy in it.

"She's not my daughter," Wesker admitted.

"Then, who the fuck was sh—?"

But, something soft cut Steve's words short. A thick needle, sliding into his jugular vein cut him off. _Fuck, _Steve thought, falling to his knees for what seemed like the hundredth time today.

The tranquilizer came from behind. He had been stupid enough to stop watching what was going on behind him, and now, it was happening again: he was passing out.

"You bastard…" he whispered as his sight faded to black.

**End of Chapter One**


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two: **

**The Dynamics of Irony**

xxxxx**  
**

"Stupid guy… Like he has the right to touch me… God, I wish I could've smacked him… I wish I was strong like Claire… Someday I will be… Stupid guy… If I ever see him again I'm gonna—"

The phone rang.

Sherry looked up from her math book. She ran over to the phone and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Sherry, this is Wesker."

She narrowed her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Do me a favor," he began. "Go into my office and grab a file on the desk. It's titled _Veronica_."

Apparently she didn't even have a choice. She let out a sigh and raced up the carpeted stairs, jumping up three steps at a time. When she entered the room she saw the file right away.

"Now what?" she asked, her tone clipped.

"Turn on the fax and send it to Lab B-340. Thanks."

_Click._

She had done this before. Wesker wasn't a forgetful man, but sometimes he ran late. It was almost funny to see such an organized and emotionless man dash around the house grumbling curses. It wasn't very funny, however, when he started yelling at her about where certain things were. She rolled her eyes and started up the fax machine.

The Hive Capture Force was the company Wesker worked for. They were rivals with Umbrella, but equally against the people who knew about the viruses, perhaps because the company knew they could be exposed as well. Even though The Agency stole information from Umbrella and other companies, they were just as committed to researching the viruses. Wesker must have been a researcher for the company, but she assumed he was doing combat work as well.

Sherry began thinking about that guy again. Steven. Maybe Steve. She couldn't remember. He was so small looking, but his grip was so painful. Her wrists had been red for hours after she was released. It took Sherry a while to realize Wesker was the one who ordered she be let go. A part of her wanted to assume Wesker did that because he cared, but the other, more dominating side of her told her he only cared because she was leverage to Claire.

_Claire._ Sherry wondered where she was now. She missed her more than she missed her parents. After all, in the short hours that Sherry knew the Redfield, she _had _been more like a mother than Annette. Sherry knew Chris and her reunited at Rockfort Island. Wesker told her, though it was more out being malicious than informational.

When Claire left the girl with Leon, he didn't seem to know what to do. Sherry was content to be with someone nice and trustworthy, but obviously, he didn't know how to care for a child. The day she was captured by Agency guards still burned fresh in her mind…

After they found refugee at a Government facility, Leon had been busy with telling his story to various people. Sherry had to confirm, but they weren't interested in her all that much. The facility was huge, and Sherry was allowed to wander wherever she wished, so long as she stayed out of trouble. So, she went outside. And, that's when they came. She wasn't completely sure how or even at what exact point, but she was walking around the facility's gardens when suddenly, they charged towards her, totting guns and screaming for her to get down. She thought they were Umbrella's people. She fought as hard as she could, but she wasn't strong enough. She was knocked unconscious and when she awoke, she was in this very house.

When she saw Wesker an instant accusation formed: everyone wanted the G-Virus sample in Raccoon City, and now Wesker wanted it, too. After he informed her he already had it, she became confused. Why did he want _her_, then? She still didn't know. Wesker just said, "Claire left you because Chris was more important to her. You're safer here." But, Sherry knew her well-being meant nothing to Wesker.

The first two weeks living with him had been utter hell. She locked herself in her room, only coming out to use the restroom and sneak food from the kitchen. She felt like a prisoner. Eventually, Wesker told her she needed to start school. He sent her to a private school, one that was walking distance from the house. Once she got into a routine, she felt a tad more comfortable living with Wesker. He hardly ever spoke to her, but that was okay. She didn't know what to say even if he wanted to talk. Most of the time the house felt empty, even if Wesker was yelling at someone on the phone about a deadline.

The house was beautiful. She would admit that much. There were five rooms, but she didn't understand why. Wesker had set-up a room for her upstairs, while he slept on the lower level. The room was supposed to be a den, but Wesker fixed it up into his own bedroom. She had only been in it once, when Wesker was painting the walls a bland beige color. Surprisingly, he asked her if she wanted her room painted, too. She said no, even though she would've really liked it painted green.

The other three bedrooms were unoccupied, although they were set-up for guests. Of course, there was the office Wesker used to do work, but Sherry didn't count that as a _bedroom. _The kitchen and living room were right next to each other, separated by a bar window. A short hallway led to Wesker's den/bedroom/secret-hideaway, and the stairs were right over it.

The upstairs wasn't much: just a hallway with all the rooms and a huge bathroom at the end. Maybe that was Sherry's favorite part. It had two sinks, long cabinets beneath them and a gigantic shower/tub. Everything seemed pearly and bright, yet Wesker never cleaned. Even the mirror was spotless. It ran across the sink and counters, and above it, there were those weird circular bulbs, like the ones in dressing rooms. Sherry supposed maids came at some point or another, but she often helped keep things tidy around the house.

"Oh, geez," Sherry grumbled, realizing she let her mind travel. She faxed the paper over to Wesker by dialing the number. She wasn't sure how many lines existed in that facility, but she had almost every one of them memorized. They were pretty easy, seeing as how all of them started with 2931 and the last three digits were the lab's ID number.

"293-1340," Sherry voiced, pressing each digit simultaneously as she called it out. When she was finished, she put the file back into the manila folder.

_Veronica. Just like the T-Veronica. Which is just like the T-Virus and the G-Virus._

She hated all of them, but even worse, she hated the fact she knew all their goddamn Leon and her were alone, he managed to scrape up files on the G- and T-Viruses. They read files together and each word made her sicker and sicker. Sherry didn't, however, know much about the T-Veronica. This was the only file Wesker had on it, and she already read it.

All those Ashford people. Veronica, the first lady and her DNA that was manipulated to make Alexia and Alfred. She wondered if Wesker had more information, or if he had to do research on it. Sometimes Sherry wondered how he would react if she asked about the T-Veronica. It wasn't like she could do anything with the information, after all. But, even if he was willing to explain it, Sherry knew she would never muster up the courage to ask in the first place. After all, Wesker may have not been a complete stranger, but she still felt uneasy around him.

Before any of this mess had even started, Sherry actually recalled meeting the man at a few Umbrella parties with her parents. Back then, she would have never guessed him to be the malicious, calculating soldier and scientist she knew now, because he always seemed like just a normal, everyday friend of her dad's.

As Sherry set down the manila folder back on the desk, she noticed the computer was hibernating. Half-mindedly, she woke it up, finding herself staring at the active desktop. She wasn't sure what to do next. Usually Wesker had the entire thing shut off, and if she attempted to turn it back on, it would ask for a password. But, now, it seemed she was free to explore for a bit.

Hesitantly, she clicked on one of the icons titled _Agency Database. _She was pleased to discover Wesker still logged in. She had been waiting for this moment for quite sometime. She quickly typed in _Claire Redfield _on the search. Three results came up:

_Redfield, Christopher… Redfield, Claire… Burnside, Steven._

The blonde rose an eyebrow. She clicked on the Burnside kid first. A picture and a two-paragraph information summary opened. It surely was the guy who attacked her, just a day before. She began reading:

According to Umbrella Inc. files, Steven Burnside was taken to Rockfort Island due to his father selling inside information on the company. Apparently, he escaped when officers attacked the island, captained by Albert Wesker. Steven made acquaintances with Claire Redfield, and together, the two escaped the island.

_In the Antarctic, Alexia Ashford took him hostage and experimented with the T-Veronica by injecting him with it. The virus spread through his body quickly, and mutation occurred faster than expected. After being attacked by one of Alexia's other experiments, his mutation reversed—something previously unheard of—and officers revived him by injecting ­­­­­the G-Virus into his system. Currently, he is being held at the Toronto facility in Canada. (Last Update: 1/13/99.)_

Sherry pursed her lips. He knew Claire. They were friends. And, now, he was being kept from her just like Sherry herself. She already knew about Claire being on Rockfort Island, but Wesker never mentioned Steven. Was he really infected? The day Wesker admitted being a "_Tyrant_"was the day Sherry realized how committed he was to The Agency _and _studying the viruses. It made her a bit wary of him, too. If Steven had the virus flowing through his veins while still looking completely normal, Sherry was scared to think about how advanced the viruses could get. But, God, the fact he had the G-Virus in his system… Well, it was almost like he had part of her father inside him.

What if Wesker wanted to start an experiment on her?

She convinced herself not to think that way. She clicked on Claire's name next and read the woman's profile. There was absolutely nothing there that Sherry didn't already know. She was hoping for a location. Maybe then she could find Claire and finally be safe.

xxxxx

Earlier in the morning, Rebecca had faxed a hefty amount of information to Claire and others. And, if that wasn't enough to keep them busy, Carlos emailed Jill a mere five minutes ago with a load of documents attached about the Nemesis Project. Claire didn't know much about that, so currently, she was sitting in front of the coffee table, reading one of the printed files.

It was quite the interesting project, and she discovered it was taking place long before 1998. When Umbrella France started working on it, they sent one of the parasites to the labs in Arklay. Lisa Trevor (that weird mutated girl Chris and Jill had to deal with) absorbed the virus into her body. That was the discovery of the G-Virus. But, the Nemesis was a project of its own. Umbrella wanted to make a Tyrant that needed no command at all; it could make its own decisions based on what they programmed into it. Claire briefly thought about how much scarier this must have been for Jill.

Of course, everyone had dealt with their own torment. Claire herself had to deal with the Ashford twins and that crazed Mr. X. Mr. X must have been a beta-type to the Nemesis, or something of the like. Although it was programmed to go after the G-Virus, it had no other senses.

Claire wondered where Sherry was right now. Leon told the story more than fifty times. She was safe. Safe. The Government took her under the witness protection program. Why couldn't they get in contact with her, though? When Leon attempted such, the officers in charge said they had no right to reveal that information. When Claire asked if they could contact Sherry on their own and ask her if she wanted interaction with them, they said they couldn't do that either. It was too risky.

"This is all my fault," Claire muttered.

Chris, who had been sitting at the computer desk, looked over to his sister. She was looking down at the coffee table, where all the papers were spread out, but she obviously wasn't reading them.

"What are you talking about?" he questioned.

Claire slowly looked up. "Sherry. I shouldn't have left as soon as I did."

He gave her a soft smile. "You did it for me."

"I know," she said, "and when I look back, I know that's what I had to do to protect you."

"But… I was safe."

"That's just the thing!" she exclaimed. "You didn't need to be saved! I put myself in trouble, then turned around and put you in more." She got up from the floor, only to sink back into the couch. "But, if I wasn't taken to Rockfort Island… I wouldn't have met Steve."

"And, if you had stayed with Leon, Sherry might still be with you."

"Exactly," she said, looking at her brother. "Which scenario is better?"

"You did what you thought was right. There's no use letting the past haunt you when you can't change it."

Claire nodded, then decided to change the subject. "What are you reading?"

"Nothing in particular. Just browsing through some old files." Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know, just looking for clues to where Wesker is."

"We can't take him on alone, Chris. And, the anti-Umbrella group Leon joined forces with isn't willing to go on independent missions. So, what now?"

"We're going to have to take this on alone, Claire. There's no other choice."

Claire thought about this for a second. She wondered exactly how long it would take for the proof of Umbrella's actions to finally come around. The Government was suspicious and had been for several years; but the company had some sort of unnatural power, and no matter what, they always seemed to weasel themselves out of problems.

"When are Leon and Jill coming back?" she wondered, moving her legs onto the couch. The two had left about an hour ago to pick up an order of firearms and ammo. Claire had weirdly found the idea of customizing and choosing her own weapon exciting, and couldn't wait to test out her Desert Eagle. It was a rather weak gun compared to some of the others they purchased, but she learned to shoot with that very type. Chris had taught her when she was thirteen, soon after he began to realize he had a knack for being a marksman. She smiled at the memory.

"They went into Toronto. That's only about an hour away." Chris looked at his watch. "Come to think of it, they should be back already."

Claire formed an impish grin on her face. "Oh, what? Worried something is going on between them?"

"Of course not!" he shouted. When he realized his tone, he narrowed his eyes. "Of course not…" he repeated, softer.

Claire let out a laugh, almost sounding like a child.

"What are you laughing about? I'm sure you're not completely keen with Leon getting involved with anyone."

The girl's playful expression suddenly disappeared. She looked away from her brother and bit her lip. For a while, she was under the impression Leon was starting to like her in a more than friendly manner, and occasionally, she still wondered. She knew about this Ada Wong woman; he knew about Steve Burnside. There was no question that they had unofficial relationships to deal with, but what if he did have feelings for her? She wasn't entirely sure she could get into a relationship. She didn't even know if she had any feelings for him.

"Claire," Chris suddenly said, obviously seeing her expression, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

The door unlocking caused Chris' words to be cut off. In came Jill and Leon, each carrying a large crate. Claire got up to help Leon, who seemed to be having trouble balancing the crate and getting his keys out of the lock. Soon, they placed the crates on the kitchen counters. Claire noticed they were already opened. She began digging through one, eventually finding a metal box labeled Desert Eagle A. E.

"Calm down," Leon said, putting a hand on Claire's shoulder.

She smiled at him and started taking out all the weaponry in the crates. "Who ordered Sub-Machine guns?"

"I did," Jill said, taking the box from Claire. "I've always adored these babies." She removed the weapons from the box and pointed it at Chris. "What do think?"

"Hard to say when you're pointing them at me," Chris teased, walking up to her and lowering them with his hands. "How much did it come out to?"

"$2,624," Leon voiced, reading from the receipt. "Oh, and 23 cents!"

"Goddamn," Chris muttered. "I wish Robert Kendo made in through the outbreak. Sure enough he would've joined forces with us."

"Yeah, then he could've made us all the weapons we ever dreamed of," Jill noted, placing the twin guns back into the box.

"Are the Magnums in there?" Leon asked.

"Pretty sure," Claire answered, digging all the way to the bottom. The crate was packed with a ridiculous amount of tiny styrofoam beads. "Ah-ha!" The Redfield dug out two heavy boxes. When she let them rest on the counter a loud chime-sound echoed throughout the kitchen. She never used a Magnum before, but she had seen Leon fire one. It scared her how he lightly stumbled backwards with each shot. Magnums were bulky and weighed her down, thus _definitely_ not her taste in firearms.

"Let's put these away for now," Jill suggested.

Leon began carrying some of the boxes over to the closet. "Yeah, no use getting all excited when we can't even shoot anything."

xxxxx

"I'm glad to see you're up."

Steve looked to the voice. Of course, he already knew who it was, and it did not bring a smile to his face. "What do _you _want?" he asked bitterly.

Wesker walked into the room all the way. "I'm sure you know already. I'm here to explain everything." He took a seat on the nearby chair next to Steve's bed.

"Go away," Steve snapped, turning away from the blonde man. "I don't want to hear anything."

"Surely you want to know about The Agency."

Steve was silent for a second. He did want to know about the company, but deep down, he knew this wasn't an anti-Umbrella alliance, an alliance for the good of mankind.

"We're a rival company to Umbrella. We are interested in biological weapons just as they are, but we intend to do more with the viruses. We also run a militia squad, referred to as The Agency Special Forces Team. ASFT, for short."

"I knew it. I knew you let me live just for torture."

"You should thank me. You couldn't possibly wish to still be dead." His voice was cocky with not even a hint of pity for the boy.

"I do. I _do wish _I was still dead! You had no right to bring me back! Why should I bother living when I'm a monster? I have this disgusting virus inside me! And, you… _you _willing injected yourself with it. I never even had a choice!" By now he turned back over to face the man.

"Don't you understand that you're better than a weak human? Like I said before, you're no longer the old Steve Burnside."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Steve asked, glaring daggers at Wesker.

"Judging on the whiney little pissant you were before, I'd think the answer is yes."

"Fuck you," the boy hissed. "You don't understand anything."

"I understand you want to see Claire again."

Steve's eyes narrowed. At last, he sat up and brushed some of the hair out of his face. "You don't even know where she is…"

"I can find out."

"Why would you do that?"

"Maybe I'm not as evil as you think." Wesker rose an eyebrow, trying to make a point.

"Not bloody likely," he muttered. Then, he sighed. "So, what? Are you going to tell me what you did to my body or not?"

"Hmm, where to begin?" Wesker mused, but he seemed to be doing it mostly to annoy Steve. "Well, once my men found your body, we knew right away the T-Veronica was in your system. Of course, we didn't have a sample of the virus right then and there, so we transported your cold, dead body back here. In Canada."

"Canada?" he echoed. "So that's where we're at… I'm not that far from home."

"New York, is that correct?"

Steve figured Wesker had his entire life information in some file somewhere, so he didn't bother asking how he knew. "Yeah," he simply said.

"When we got back here, my men automatically brought you to the labs. Although we wanted to inject you with more of the T-Veronica it would've taken too long to extract it from your body, decide what it was made up of, inject you back with it, and so on. Your body would've been useless. Instead, we decided to manipulate the G-Virus. The G-Virus, unlike all the others, reawakens cells and body functions. It's quite magnificent."

Steve's eyes narrowed. He heard Wesker yesterday when he said the same thing about the G-Virus, but it didn't take it much into consideration. "So… I have both the T-Veronica _and _G-Virus in my system?"

"Well, the T-Veronica is more in your blood, but yes, the G-Virus is there with it. We're still not sure how the two will cooperate in the future, but they seem to like your body at the moment."

"Oh, I feel _so _special," Steve droned, rolling his eyes. "Why not just inject me with the T-Virus and let me mutate? Why keep me alive!"

"Because you're useful, Steven. The T-Virus allows mutation once, but in various stages. The G-Virus, while having its revitalization aspects on the side, continues to mutate until it completely destroys the body. We haven't experimented much with the T-Veronica, but from the looks of it, that virus has _rapid _mutation speed. Alexia—your dear friend—tried to control that by freezing herself. Of course, the amount of stress she went under with Claire and Chris caused her to lose that control. She began mutating unwillingly. Just like you."

Steve didn't know all this, and he'd be lying to himself if he said it wasn't interesting. He knew a lot about the T-Virus since he read so many files on Rockfort. But, he knew basically nothing about the G-Virus and T-Veronica, the ones that were in his body. How fucking ironic.

Wesker continued, "Once all that was successful we waited for your body to react, we waited to make sure you were 100 percent immune to mutation. You were in the coma for a while, and now, you're awake."

The russet-haired boy began shaking his head. "I don't want to be this. I don't want to be this infected freak!"

"You have no choice now."

"What do you intend to do with me?" Steve demanded.

"Make you a soldier."

"_What_?" Steve gaped, not believing he heard right. "You've gotta be kidding me! I'm not even willing in his situation. You're _not _going to use me as your—"

"—personal weapon?" Wesker finished for the boy. "We'll see."

Steve scowled. "What is this, anyway?" he asked, pointing to the wound on his side. "I haven't been able to figure it out."

"That was nothing," Wesker told him. "We were simply making sure the scales you developed weren't going to make another appearance."

Steve furrowed his brow. "What…?"

"After injecting you with the G-Virus, most of your scales seemed to disappear. If you look closely at your skin, you can still see _slight _outlines and imprints. On your side, the scales didn't seem to fade. We simply checked to see if there was any mutation underneath the skin. There wasn't, and eventually the scales went away."

The boy wasn't sure he actually believed the answer, but he decided not to argue. Instead, he sank into his bed. "I want to _go somewhere._"

"Well, you're not going to be stuck in his bed forever," Wesker informed him.

"Where am I gonna go after? Some military training camp where they'll force me to build up my strength so I can be your fighting machine?"

"You don't need to be trained, Steven. You're already strong."

"Yeah, took you down yesterday," Steve said, grinning.

"If I remember correctly, _you're _the one who was left bloody and worn-out. So, I wouldn't be too self-centered at this current time." Wesker's voice sounded annoyed, more so than usual. "Tomorrow morning I'm having you sent to my house."

Steve looked shocked. "Y-Your house?"

"That girl you attacked yesterday… She lives with me as well."

"You said she wasn't your daughter."

"She isn't."

A more confused look formed on Steve's face. "So, why is she _living _with you? You're not some kind of pervert, are you?"

"She's the daughter of a former co-worker of mine: William Birkin, the creator of the G-Virus. Of course, you probably know the story from Claire Redfield."

"Birkin…" he pondered for a moment. He suddenly brightened up, as if he realized something. "Yeah. Yeah, Claire mentioned that whole thing. He injected himself with it and then all the sudden those rats got infected, yada, yada. She never mentioned the girl, though."

"Figures," he muttered. "Umbrella is after her. She's the only one in the entire world with a resistance to the G-Virus. That, and she also knows too much about Umbrella. Just like you. You're quite the rare one yourself. You are the only living test-subject of Alexia. And, as far as The Agency knows, no one has manipulated the G-Virus and combined it with the T-Veronica."

"A resistance to the G-Virus?" Steve wondered, seeming particularly interested in Sherry.

Wesker readjusted his position on the chair, seeming a bit bored with telling stories. "During the outbreak in Raccoon City, Claire and Sherry met. William chased after his daughter because her body would accept him implanting an embryo into it. He did so, and Sherry was at risk of becoming infected. Claire made a vaccine for her, titled Devil, and cured her."

"Wow, sounds like Claire really went out of her way to protect her…" he trailed off, seeming lost in a strange daydream. "Why didn't Claire mention her?"

"Who knows," Wesker said. "Listen. The reason I'm keeping Sherry at my house is in case Umbrella does find out we have her. If they invade our facility we'll be ready to fight without the worry of where Sherry might be. I think it's best for you to stick around there, too."

"Umbrella doesn't know I'm alive, though."

"They'll suspect. They know Claire and you escaped Rockfort alone. They never had the chance to track you down since Alfred and Alexia kept Antarctic information to themselves; they probably think the two of you are together. But, I highly doubt they even know you're infected. If they do, this is why we think ahead."

Steve gave a quick nod, then asked: "So, what exactly is your role in all of this? Do you own this company?"

Wesker shook his head. "No, The Agency is under the command of James Trenton Darius. I am simply the head of the researching department, but I specialize in combat as well."

"Aren't you just a multitalented man," Steve mumbled. Apparently, Wesker heard, because he gave Steve a stiff expression that almost seemed like a warning. "Whatever. I still hate it here, and I still hate you."

Shrugging, Wesker stood up, apparently ready to leave now. "Fine with me," he said, "but, Steven, I'm sure your attitude will altar in the near future."

**End of Chapter Two**


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three:**

**Ultra-Violent Horror Show**

xxxxx

For the first time since Steve woke up, he was finally able to wander around the facility. Of course, Wesker was in tow as well, but the redhead wouldn't let that bother him. He was happy to be out of that damn hospital room, and more importantly, happy to finally have on some normal clothes. Wesker had brought him a pair of jeans and a wife-beater right before they left the room. Steve suspected they were purchased just for him, seeing as how they were a nice fit. He appreciated it actually, but he wouldn't vocalize that fact to Wesker.

Currently, they were in one of the underground labs. It was a bit chilly, and the temperature definitely matched the look. It reminded him of small labs at Rockfort, only bigger and a whole lot creepier. When he made it off Rockfort, he promised himself he'd never step foot anywhere that ever had the Umbrella logo nearby. This wasn't Umbrella, but it seemed like its distant cousin, and Steve figured it was equally twisted, equally nerve-racking.

"I want to leave," he demanded, folding his arms as he followed Wesker.

"Do you notice something here?" the man asked.

"Huh?"

"Do you notice something, Steve? In your body?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "It's cold."

"That's not coldness you're feeling, it's the T-Virus. It's all the viruses."

"What the hell are you talking about?" the boy asked, jogging a bit to catch up with Wesker.

"Because you have the G- and T-Veronica viruses in your system, you're capable to feel when other organisms have it in them, too. Understand?"

"Not really. Why can't I _feel_ you, as you say?"

"You've just awakened. As days go by your senses will sharpen, and you will become more aware of the world around you. You're feeling it now because there is so much of the virus around here."

"You make it sound like I'm in a fucking vampire movie," Steve muttered, stopping in his tracks.

Wesker turned around to look at the boy. He readjusted his sunglasses and his jaw seemed to tighten.

"Why can't you see this whole scenario from my point of view? Don't you understand that I didn't choose this? No, I didn't want to die! But, I didn't want _this_ either! Having this virus in my body is a constant reminder of everything I lost on Rockfort Island!"

"That's in the past. Get over it."

"Get over it?" he repeated. "How can you say that to me? I am not your personal weapon! I am a fucking seventeen year-old boy, and I don't deserve this!"

"You're eighteen, Steve. It's January 6th. Your birthday was two days ago."

Steve was silent. He glared at the man in anger, but part of his silence was due to shock. He didn't really care that he was eighteen now, but he just couldn't believe Wesker blew off everything he just said. It made him feel stupid and powerless. Why was this guy so unresponsive to emotions?

"Go to hell, you son of a bitch," Steve spat, turning on his heel. He began walking, but was stopped when his wrist was grabbed.

"Don't think you can just walk away from me, Steven." Wesker's voice was icy. "You have yet to experience the true powers of what's inside you. And, until you do, you have no right to talk to me that way. Stop acting like a pussy, and get _over_ it."

Steve shook the man's grip off and rubbed his now-reddened wrist.

"Now, you can either follow me or get locked up in that smelly hospital room." Wesker turned around and began walking again, entering a lab to his right.

Steve looked around to a few scientists who were staring at him. Some of them looked scared—most likely because he was a Tyrant—but others looked shocked or confused. He felt his face turn a few shades of pink and quickly decided to follow Wesker.

"This here," Wesker began, walking towards a giant observation window, "is our most recent project. I set it up the day after we discovered the compounds of the T-Veronica."

"Oh, Dr. Wesker, you're so brilliant. Whatever could Alexia's virus be made of?"

Wesker ignored the boy's sarcasm. "Somewhat of a combination from ant DNA and the Progenitor Virus."

"Fascinating!" the boy exclaimed dryly. Steve began taking a good look into the window. It looked like one of those rooms in an insane asylum, albeit the padded walls were no where to be found. After a long moment, Steve realized there were _people _inside. They, too, were dressed in white and their skin was so pale that they almost looked ghostly. "Oh, my God…" he whispered. "Why are there _people_ in there?"

"We're testing the virus in a controlled environment." The blonde pointed to an air vent in the ceiling. "Every three hours were letting the virus seep into the room. Testing the effects lets us know exactly how this virus works."

"You said the virus mutates rapidly! Why do you need to test it out? You already know that!"

"We think we know that. We did it with the G-Virus after the Raccoon City incident. William Birkin mutated, but continued to do so until he was basically a pile of slush. If he didn't die in the train explosion, there is no telling how long he would've continued mutating."

"You're… despicable…" he breathed out, looking at the man with horror. "How can you do this to innocent people? And, where did they come from?"

"Most of them are workers who began drifting into insanity. Better to get rid of them this way than to watch them destroy themselves through work." Wesker wandered over to the door, entering a passcode. The electric shutter flew open, allowing them entrance.

"What are you doing?" Steve screeched. "You can't go in—" he cut himself off when he realized the two them were immune to infection. He sighed at his stupidity and followed the man into the room.

It was musty and smelly. The lights seemed to blind him, and he realized at that moment how very aware he was of everything. He closed his eyes, only to feel Wesker moving away from him. When he opened them, he saw Wesker all the way across the room.

The blonde was turning over one of the men in the corner, who had curled up in a ball at the sound of footsteps. When Wesker stood back up, he let his boot connect with the man's chest. Blood instantly spattered out of his mouth, a soft moan following.

Steve just stared, horrified by Wesker's familiarity with violence. "Why?" he whispered, but either it was too soft for Wesker to hear, or the man decided to ignore it.

"Look," Wesker said, moving to a woman lying on her stomach, "the skin on her neck has begun to turn yellow. And, the veins on her legs seem to be expanding." He paused, almost admiring his work. "This proves something already. The T-Veronica spreads rapidly through injection only. Contamination in a room where the oxygen is cut-off doesn't seem to have a lot of affect."

"The G-Virus can't be spread through bites," Steve noted. He wasn't sure where he heard that. Maybe Wesker said it to him, or maybe he read it in a file. He couldn't remember at that moment. "It can only be spread through embryo implantation."

Wesker looked up at Steve. "Impressive."

"If the T-Veronica can be spread either way, what if I bite someone? I have both the G- and T-Veronica. What will happen?"

"Interesting question," Wesker stated. "And, this is why we must study you."

"Study me? I'm not a lab rat!"

"Steve, you just expressed signs of interest. You can't possibly deny the fact you want to discover more about what you are, like the rest of us."

"I can sure as hell try," he shot back. "I'm not going to lay on some stretcher while you probe me with needles and do God knows what else!"

"You really need to stop arguing about everything," Wesker muttered. "Now, stop standing there. I still need to show you one last thing." The man walked to the shutter, typed in the passcode again and went back into the lab.

Steve followed and noticed a female scientist standing the lab. She was rather plain looking, with dull brown hair and almost gray eyes.

Wesker walked over to the woman. "Specimen E has yellow coloring on her neck and her veins have enlarged."

The woman nodded and wrote some notes down on a clipboard. Afterwards, Wesker left the lab. When Steve followed, the brunette backed up, almost as if she was being cautious. For a second, the sight hurt him, making him feel unwanted. But, it was only a moment later that he managed to grin, realizing that, for once, he had the upper-hand in a situation. Wesker was never affected by anything, no matter what insults Steve threw his way. It was almost nice to know he could still spark some emotions in people, regardless if it was just _fear_. In fact, after being cooped up with Wesker all day, Steve thought that maybe—just maybe—there may have been some unique satisfaction in enabling fear within that otherwise useless woman.

xxxxx

Sherry was cooking dinner for herself. She had done so since she was about eight years old, and in her humble opinion, she thought she was quite good at it. The girl was just about to turn off the oven when she heard the door unlock. It was obviously Wesker, but he was home far too early. She almost felt like a demented housewife, waiting up for her husband as she slaved over the hot stove.

Sherry remained in the kitchen while Wesker trotted through the house in heavy boots. But, the sound was too intense for it to just be Wesker. No, he wasn't alone—there was someone else with him. She went into the living room, immediately spotting Wesker as he hung up his jacket on the coat rack. She almost fell backwards when she realized who else was with the blonde man.

"What is he doing here?" she asked with a touch of disrespect.

"He'll be living with us,"

Sherry's eyes widened. "_What_? Are you kidding me? He tried to kill me."

"He's harmless. Right, Steve?" the man asked, looking at the redhead.

"I… uh… I'm sorry, about that." He sounded sincere. "I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't mean to hurt you. You're just a kid, after all."

Wesker muttered something, then walked through the living room and into his bedroom. Steve started following, but the look on Sherry's face made him stop.

"What?" he wondered.

"That's Wesker's room. You shouldn't follow him."

"Oh," the boy said, looking down. "Your name is Sherry Birkin, right?"

"Yeah." She retreated to the kitchen. "I'm making spaghetti. Do you want some?" Sherry's tone was dry, but she tried her best to remain somewhat pleasant.

Steve walked to the kitchen. "You didn't poison it, did you?"

Sherry didn't answer. She turned off the oven, but continued to stir the noodles. After a moment or two she stopped, crossing her arms and turning towards Steve. "Why are you here?" she inquired, harshly.

"I don't know," he answered. "Wesker just said I was gonna live with him. He said you lived here, too. I thought that was weird."

She picked up the pot of noodles and drained the water in the sink. "You and me both," she mumbled, pushing past him after she was done.

"Are you infected?"

Sherry stopped what she was doing and looked at him blankly. As she stared she noticed the bright orange eyes the boy had. It caused her to look down at her feet. "No. My dad never injected me with anything and neither did Wesker, so lay off."

"I wasn't asking to be mean!" he shouted, finally showing some emotion.

"Well, I know you're infected with a G/T-Veronica fusion, and if you lay one hand on me I'll kill you."

Steve was suddenly very reminded of Claire. He knew Claire had a lot of impact on Sherry, and he wondered if part of her attitude right now was strictly because she wanted to be like the Redfield. It made him smile a bit.

"Don't look at me like that," Sherry ordered. She began pouring sauce over the spaghetti. When she was done, she took a bowl out of a cabinet. "Now, do you want some or not?"

He nodded. "Um, sure. Anything is better than the hospital food I've been given."

Wesker came out of his room. He was still wearing his black pants, but his shoes were off and he had on a white undershirt.

Sherry turned to the man standing in the living room. He was holding a TV guide. "Do you want any?" Her voice seemed to soften.

He walked to the kitchen and threw the magazine in the trash. "No. I'm going to my study." With that said, he left the two in the kitchen and walked up stairs.

Steve looked at Sherry. "Where do you think I'm going to sleep?"

"Last night Wesker brought home a load of clothing from a store called Richard's or something. He put them in the room next to mine. I didn't know what it was about, but,"—she gestured towards Steve—"I guess this is why." After filling up the bowls with a fair amount of spaghetti, she placed them both on the dining room table. She sat down and began eating.

Steve stood for a while, examining his surroundings. "Why did he let me live?"

Sherry looked up after swallowing some of the noodles. "I don't know. Why did he kidnap me?"

For a moment Steve thought she was asking with the intention of wanting a serious answer. He was about to say he didn't know the answer to that either, but instead, he sat down across from the girl. Picking up his fork, he began to twirl it around to claim some noodles.

After a long while, Steve said, "So, you knew Claire, right?"

"You did, too," she answered back.

"How did you know that?"

"I read a file about you on Wesker's computer. But, let's keep that a secret. Anyhow, what happened to you?"

"In a nutshell," Steve began, biting his lip, "my dad did some stuff to tick off Umbrella, they killed my mom and took me and my dad to Rockfort Island. A couple of days later, the island was attacked, and I escaped. There was an outbreak on the island somehow…"

Steve let out a soft sigh and began explaining the rest in a bit more detail. He decided to skip over the parts where he fell for Claire romantically, mostly because he didn't want the girl to know any of that. When he got to the part about Alexia injecting him with the virus, the part where he mutated and attacked Claire, the part where he died in Claire's arms, Sherry seemed to be in a trance, completely taken over by the tale. He explained a little about waking up in the hospital, mostly venting about how Wesker had no right to bring him back to life.

"That's… that's sad," Sherry simply said when Steve was finished. "I'm sorry. It sounds like you two really cared about each other."

Steve nodded. "She was like… a goddess. Everything she said and did was perfect. She saved me, I saved her. The two of us meeting was like… destiny."

At that moment, Sherry rose an eyebrow. Steve looked away, fearing he might have said too much. If she caught on to any of his feelings she apparently decided to not vocalize it.

"Well, I'm done here." She stood up and took her bowl to the sink.

Steve got up as well and stood next to her as she washed her bowl. "Thanks," he said.

"You don't have to supervise me washing dishes. Just put the bowl in the sink. You should go up to your room."

Steve furrowed his brow, wanting to tell the girl to stop ordering him around. But, he felt wrong yelling at a girl her age. Instead, he placed the bowl in the sink and exited the kitchen. He began walking up the stairs, noticing a light emitting from a room to the right. He walked to the doorway and saw Wesker reading something.

"Hi," he greeted, slowly walking inside.

"Go away," Wesker ordered.

"I just wanted to know where my room was!" he yelled, his anger automatically coming back. Wesker certainly seemed to test his moods.

Wesker looked up from the file. "It's the last door to the left."

"Okay. That's all I wanted to know. Geez."

"Calm down, Steven. I didn't hear you yell once downstairs."

"That's because Sherry gave me no reason to be upset!" he explained.

"Just go to your room."

"Stop acting like you're my goddamn dad, or something," Steve groaned.

He turned around and headed down the hall. All the doors were closed. He reached the last one and opened it slowly. When he turned on the light switch the room lit up nicely, revealing its contents. It was quite simple: a bed across the wall that had a window, an empty bookcase next to the doorway, a closet to the left, and finally, a dresser at the foot of the bed. The room was a nice size, but its colorless walls left something to be desired.

The boy opened the closet and found a bundle of clothes. He looked through them, only to discover most of them were either semi-fancy suits or weird shirts and jeans. For a moment, he was actually considering going up to Wesker and thanking him for the room and clothing. Then, he decided against it. The man would just dismiss it anyhow.

Steve walked back down the hall and opened the door next to his room. It was Sherry's room, obviously, but in reality, it sure didn't look like a normal teenager's room. The walls were colorless as well, but a few posters here and there were tacked up. One poster was a map of the solar system, another one was to the movie _A Clockwork Orange_. He shrugged, and examined the girl's bookshelf. _To Kill a Mockingbird_, _Down and Out in Paris and London_, _Lolita_—they were all there, which caused Steve further confusion. He then noticed something lying on her floor, at the foot of her bed.

It was a pink leather jacket. He picked it up, realizing it was way too big for Sherry. When he read the back he almost let out a gasp. "Made In Heaven," it said. Just like… Just like Claire's jacket that had read "Let Me Live." Was this Claire's?

"Put that down."

Steve looked up. Sherry was standing in the doorway.

"I thought you were washing the dishes!" he gaped, dropping the clothing.

"That's what a dishwasher is for," she explained, walking up to him and grabbing the jacket from the floor. "What are you doing in my room?"

"I… got lost…"

"Your room to your door is open, which means you already went in there. You're snooping through my stuff."

"No, I'm not!" he defended. "I… Look, I'm sorry. I was just curious."

Sherry rolled her eyes and stuffed the jacket in the closet. "Yeah, that's Claire's."

Steve let his eyes narrow. "I… I thought so," he admitted softly. "Did she give it to you?"

"Yeah, when we were escaping Raccoon City. It's all I have left of her."

"I wish I had something to remember her by," he whispered.

"Well, if you want, you can smell that whenever you're lonely." Sherry sat on her bed and began removing her socks.

Steve glared at her. "Don't get smart with me, little girl. I'm a hell of a lot older than you."

"Little girl?" Sherry repeated, dropping her socks to the ground. "Gee, you sure sound like it."

Steve hated to admit it, but he was almost intimidated by this girl. Sure, she had a smart mouth and that normally would have made him want to smack a child like her upside the head, but there was something so _innocent _about the way that she was acting. He couldn't get himself to be _angry_, even if her banter was starting to affect him.

He let out a sigh and ended up staring at the poster of _A Clockwork Orange_ again. It was the same, old poster he'd always seen: Malcolm McDowell's face ripping through the orange-lined _A_ as he gave that evil, yet somehow humorous, look. "You know," Steve started, his eyes never averting from the poster, "I never met a girl your age who liked _A Clockwork Orange_ enough to put a poster up."

"Seen it?" she asked, only raising one eyebrow, as if not completely interested in the conversation but testing whether or not Steve was worthy of conversing with at all.

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Read the book, too. It's fucking weird." After he realized his language he bit his lip. "Uh, sorry?"

Sherry gave a confused expression. "What? I can watch _A Clockwork Orange_, but I can't hear someone say the naughty f-word? Oh, please."

Steve stayed silent, trying to figure out Sherry.

"Well," she began, walking to her dresser and grabbing a new pair of socks, "I'm going to wash-up."

"I guess I should head off to bed, too."

"Yeah, you need you energy to go out in the morning and slaughter innocent people."

Steve watched the girl leave her room, a bit thrown back from her comment. Was that a joke, or did she really think that's what he was going to do? He stood in place for a few seconds, analyzing her comment before deciding he better get out of her room, lest she return with even more snarky remarks what would prove to bother him.

xxxxx

Claire stared at Leon, who was polishing his combat boots silently. Occasionally, he would look up to the television, either grinning or raising his eyebrows in disbelief at some weird comedy show from the fifties. Claire wasn't doing anything constructive. She had a bag of chips in her hand, but she wasn't eating much. She was too intrigued with her friend.

"You know," Claire finally said, "from the uneducated point-of-view, you look like a normal cop on his day off." Leon was wearing his old RPD shirt, one of the few that wasn't covered with blood and gore.

"And, you look like a normal college student, pissed off because she has to study for exams, but can't get herself up to do such a thing."

Claire scoffed and threw the bag of chips on the side of the sofa. "Leon, if all this stuff didn't happen, what would you be doing now?"

"Still be a cop, I suppose." He placed the shine brush aside, grabbing an overused cloth to wipe the remaining polish dust away. "You?"

"Well, even though I dropped out of college because of this, I try to convince myself I would've dropped out either way. I mean, Jesus, I was so annoyed with school before. If I did drop out, I think I would've tried professional motorcycle racing. I know that sounds pretty lame, but you can't blame a girl for having absurd dreams."

"Hey, you lost your motorcycle in Raccoon City, didn't you?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Pisses me off, too." She grabbed the chip bag again and taped it close. "I have that other one, but we put it in storage. I wish I brought that one to Raccoon City instead."

"I lost my entire apartment," he admitted, seeming sincerely upset. "I had some valuable—"

"Guys! Guess what!"

Claire and Leon looked up to the voice. It was Chris, who came out from the hallway with the phone in his hands. He had been talking to Rebecca.

"What is it?" Claire asked, getting up from the couch. She brushed the chip crumbs off her lap.

"Rebecca said Umbrella has a small headquarters here."

"Huh? How can that be?" Leon questioned. "We checked the surroundings, and Umbrella has no facilities in Canada."

"No widely _public_ facility in Canada," Chris corrected. "She said this is one of Umbrella's somewhat secret facilities, ones that they use for more advanced research. She said there's going to be a presentation soon. They'll be exhibiting a new experiment at the show. But, that's not the reason to go there. Rebecca says there's a data disc there, one that contains thousands of passcodes and I.D. numbers."

The ex-cop rose an eyebrow. "Exactly where is the facility?"

"Toronto," he answered. "Which is strange, seeing as how it's such a big city. I don't know how they crammed an Umbrella facility there."

"It's probably not that big," Jill suddenly said, coming out from the bathroom. She had a fresh pair of clothes on, but her hair was slick with dampness, and she looked refreshed. "Maybe just an information office with a few assembly rooms."

Claire nodded. "So, what are we going to do about it?"

Chris looked at his sister and replied, "Getting our hands on that disc will help us investigate a long chain of facilities without gaps in between. We've been depending on inside information from Rebecca and Carlos, but they can't always supply us with what we need."

"Toronto is a good hour away," Claire said. "When would we have to leave?"

"The presentation is in two days. With so many people distracted by the show, it will be a good opportunity to snatch the disc."

"This seems like it's going to be pretty packed there." Leon looked at Claire for a moment, then back to Chris. "We can't all possibly go."

Claire pursed her lips for a moment. "What's the plan? One of us goes to the presentation disguised and then sneaks off to search for the disc?"

"Bingo," Chris said.

"Is this an underground facility?" Jill wondered. "They can't possibly be hiding some giant building from the public."

Chris replaced the phone in its holder. "I'm not entirely sure. Rebecca is going to fax some images and directions tonight. Some passcodes and instructions on computer usage, too."

"We have to decide on who is going," Leon restated. "Like Claire said, we can't all go. Umbrella has our photos everywhere, and it's important not to draw attention to us."

Jill looked at Chris, frowning. "Our faces are probably more memorized than Claire's and Leon's."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, that's the thing." He sat down on the couch. "Rebecca said she snatched an I.D. from one of her co-workers. A female co-worker. Umbrella isn't going to waste their time checking the status on every single person who attends the presentation, mostly because no one knows about other than the people who work for Umbrella."

Claire's eyes widened. "You're saying a female has to go." It wasn't a question. "Meaning me. Having Jill go is too risky."

Chris reached out to Claire, placing his hand on her shoulder. "I don't want you to go. I'm much more comfortable going myself so I don't have to worry about anything happening to you."

Claire let herself smile a bit. "But, if this presentation gives us the opportunity to steal a data disc it's more than worth it."

"You could get—"

"And, so could you," Claire finished, even before he let his words flow. "You're being a pessimist. This can't possibly be as dangerous as you're making it sound. If I have an I.D. saying I'm someone else, I don't have to worry about it."

"I'll never forgive myself if something happens!" Chris exclaimed.

Jill laughed quietly. "Chris, although I agree that this is risky, Claire has proven to take care of herself."

"Yeah, taking down the entire Paris facility?" Leon questioned. "I haven't heard of you doing anything like that, Chris"

"Claire only knows from me teaching her," Chris glowered, but there was teasing in his words.

"Let's not make any final decisions yet," Jill said. "Let's just see if Rebecca has sent anything."

Chris silently agreed by nodding. He went to the computer and started their email program. He was surprised to see Rebecca had indeed sent something. The timestamp was two hours ago, so he figured she had made plans before she even called him. Quickly, he downloaded the attachment and started exploring the contents.

Claire wandered over to the computer, leaning over Chris' shoulder. She saw some of the files, which included a blueprint layout, directions to the facility, and a list of passcodes, all pretty much what Chris had suspected she'd send in the first place. There was also a scan of the I.D. Chris clicked on the file, causing a picture of a mousy looking woman to pop up. She wore thin-framed glasses, which brought out the freckles on her cheeks. She had absolutely no facial structure at all. _But_, she did have brown hair and blue eyes, just like Claire. Claire could manage to make herself look as dumpy as this woman.

"Well," Claire started, smiling as she spoke, "at least she's not blonde haired/blue eyes. I would die if I had to go blonde."

Jill traveled over to the computer and took a good look at the woman on the screen. "She doesn't look a thing like you," Jill argued, turning to look at Claire. She pushed some of the hair back out of the girl's eyes and then lifted her face up by the chin. "But, maybe we can make some brown freckles with my eyeliner. How old is this woman?"

"34," Chris read out-loud, "and, her name is Carly Mesh."

"How am I going to manage looking as old as she is?" Claire inquired, rubbing the back of her head.

Leon put his thumb to his mouth, biting on it mildly. "Maybe some violet blush around your eyes. Circles under people's eyes always tend to make them look older."

"Baggy clothes that don't please your frame will work, too," Chris offered.

Jill nodded, still examining Claire's face. "I don't have a lot of makeup, and I know you don't either, so, we'll have to run out to the store and pick some up, along with some gaudy-looking clothes."

For a moment Claire clenched her teeth in disgust. She hated makeup. Not only did it make her breakout, but it also made her itchy. But, this was for the destruction of Umbrella, and if she could survive fighting through hordes of zombies, she surely could handle applying some lipstick. She huffed, sagging her shoulders in mock-frustration.

"I'm leaning towards making Chris cross-dress to Toronto," she said.

"Not a bad idea," Jill agreed, laughing under her breath. She patted Chris' shoulder. "You'd look so pretty with a little blush and mini-skirt."

"I'm not Alfred Ashford," Chris hissed, almost seeming sincerely insulted.

Both women laughed, causing Chris to only frown more.

"_Anyway_," Chris said, interrupting the laughter, "we're going to need some lamination sheets, too, for when we print out this I.D. card."

"Someone is a little touchy about their masculinity," Claire commented through a grin. "But, you're right." She walked over to the coffee table, grabbing a pen and notepad. She started writing a list of supplies. At the same time, she began wondering exactly what this small mission would bring and if it really would be as simple as they were all making it sound.

**End of Chapter Three**


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four:**

**The Final Goodbye to Wisdom**

xxxxx

Steve yawned loudly, fidgeting in his seat as he turned to rest his head against the car window.

"It's 8 a.m., so why are you so tired?"

"8 a.m.!" Steve echoed to Wesker. "Are you friggen _kidding_ me? I usually sleep until noon!"

"Well, your high school dropout days are over," Wesker responded, taking an exit on the highway.

"I'm not a dropout!" Steve said. "I graduated with fucking straight _A_s in all my classes."

"Why not go to college, then? Maybe if you had, you wouldn't have been taken to Rockfort."

The boy glared at Wesker. "Fuck you," he muttered, "and don't ever throw that in my face again."

"Don't give me reason to."

Steve muttered more vile things under his breath. "For your information, I didn't go to college because my parents agreed to let me have six months off before starting school. I was gonna start midyear."

"That's what all kids say," Wesker said, "but then they never go back to school, because they enjoy their lazy six months off. Although, I did notice from reading your files that you managed to obtain two scholarships."

"Stalker."

"Not much use those are going to be now," Wesker continued. "Especially since they were for American schools. You're officially dead outside the eyes of The Agency."

Steve put his feet on the dashboard. "I suppose you are, too."

"Yes," he answered. "Maybe Umbrella knows I'm alive. Who knows?"

"This is stupid," Steve suddenly voiced, changing the subject. "Do you drive to the facility ever morning? It's been like… twenty minutes!"

"Not all The Agency's workers live in the dormitories in the upper-levels. And, why should they? We're free to live where we want."

"Free to imprison test subjects in their household, too?" Steve shot back.

"To be fair, Sherry's not a test subject."

"Oh, but I am? Gee, thanks, jackass." Steve turned to look at Wesker. He saw the tiniest turn of Wesker's lip, but he wasn't sure if it was a smile or not. Maybe he was having a nervous twitch. Deciding on the latter, the boy turned back towards the window and realized they were now in a parking garage. "So, how exactly does the public view The Agency again?"

"To them, we're nothing more than a Special Forces company. Spy work and so on."

"And, if dear old I, run out into the middle of the street, proclaiming the truth of the company producing biological weapons, what then?"

Wesker shrugged as he parked the car. "We turn you into a full Tyrant."

Steve scoffed loudly, but he knew that was probably true. It sure sounded sincere.

When the car came to a complete stop, Wesker reached into the bag and grabbed a bundle of folders, then took the keys out of the engine. Steve got out of the car, looking around at the hundreds of filled parking spaces. It was surreal to think this many people could have such low morals.

Sighing, he began following Wesker into the stairway enclosure. The two said nothing as they reached the lobby of the facility. He continued to play Follow the Leader all the way down to the basement lab entrance. There, Wesker pressed various buttons, allowing the electric doors to grant their access.

"Good morning Dr. Wesker!" a couple of people greeted, as the two walked down the halls. Steve laughed under his breath, finding it humorous most of these people seemed to be saying it just to get on the man's "good side."

Suddenly, Wesker turned and entered a lab room. He grabbed a white coat from a rack and put it on.

"Do I get one?" Steve asked.

"No," Wesker replied, pulling a stool out from underneath a counter. "Sit there."

"Fine." Steve did as he was told. He looked around the lab. Some other scientists were walking about, but most of them weren't looking at him. The boy felt sick. Here he was, sitting in some test room where a billion horrible experiments must have occurred. Just like Umbrella's labs. What would Claire think if she knew he was here, knew he was living with Albert Wesker and Sherry Birkin? Would she automatically hate him? And, what would she—

—_say if she knew I was infected?_

Steve never really had the chance to mull over all these things. He didn't even know if he was going to see Claire again. When he thought about her, his heart seemed to sink. He truly thought he loved her. And, how could he not? She was the only person he felt this connected to, so hopelessly crazy about. She must have thought he was an idiot, confessing his love before he died!

"Am I ever going to see Claire again?" Steve asked. When he looked up, Wesker wasn't anywhere to be seen.

_I'll find her myself,_ he silently promised himself. _I have to see her again. _

He decided not to question his feelings any longer. He felt stupid enough getting all mushy-gushy when he explained the story to Sherry, so now definitely wasn't the right time to get emotional. Despite this, Steve suddenly wondered what Claire would do if he tracked her down, had Sherry in tow and one day popped up on the woman's doorstep. Maybe they should live as a happy little family. Well, maybe not a family, but they could team up, fight Umbrella together, or something.

_Not if I'm fucking infected!_

Once again, his mind yelled the obvious points. But, Claire was a good person; she would accept him in any way, shape or form. Or so, that's the kind of person she seemed to be.

"Steven, stick your arm out."

Wesker was at his side, but Steve hadn't even noticed the man return. Sighing, he rolled up his sleeve and stuck out his arm, preparing for whatever he was going to do. He wasn't surprised when he felt a thin needle slide into his arm. He was, however, confused when Wesker automatically removed the needle.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking at his arm.

"You have a rolling vein," Wesker informed him. He began lightly slapping the boy's mid-arm, trying to get the vein to show itself.

"Maybe this is because you've already taken a gallon of blood out while I was in that hospital bed," Steve sneered.

Wesker looked annoyed. "Maybe you just have thin, weak arms."

The russet-haired boy rolled his eyes quickly. Wesker placed the needle and capsule on the counter.

"You know how to use firearms," the man said. "We know that from your little escape at Rockfort."

Steve rose an eyebrow. "What's your point?"

"You don't need training in that short of field, but we need to test your strength." Wesker dug through a drawer, eventually finding a rubbery blue strip. He tied it around Steve's upper-arm tightly. "Tyrants are supposed to have very thick veins, Steven. Having to tie something around your arm makes you so human."

Steve supposed that was supposed to be an insult, but he didn't really care. Eventually, he felt the needle insert again.

Wesker noticed Steve's head turning, watching as the needle disappeared into his skin. No one ever watched as they had their blood drawn. Even Wesker had to admit to himself he never watched. For him, it wasn't out of sickness or nervousness; it was purely subconscious. But, Steve... Steve was watching so carefully. He wouldn't take his eyes off the needle sliding into his vein. His eyes never twitched at the sight of his blood filling up the small capsule. It was like he was in complete awe, but there certainly was familiarity in the look, as if he _always _watched.

After the capsule was all filled up, Wesker reached for another one, switching them so that the new vial could be filled as well. Steve finally looked away, but only because he seemed bored. Wesker removed the needle soon after, locking the capsules tightly and then setting them upon a plastic tray.

"Are we done?" Steve asked.

"With this, yes. Like I said, we need to test your strength."

Steve just gave a confused look. "Yeah, and I still don't understand you."

Wesker grabbed a folder from a desk and handed it to Steve. The boy took the manila folder, opening it and automatically seeing a picture of a woman. She was quite unattractive, looking shapeless and almost dorky. _Brenda Neilson,_ it said across the top.

"This woman was selected from our database. We have files on all the citizens in Toronto. A spy was sent in to follow her for a few days. She works at a department store during the weekdays, between 10 a.m. to 7 p.m."

Steve handed the folder back to Wesker. "Got a hard-on for her, or something?"

"She has perfect genetics. Upon injection, her body would accept the T-Veronica wondrously. We need her. She will make a superb Tyrant." He paused for a moment, setting the folder down on the counter again. "Of course, not a Tyrant like ourselves. If we handle her correctly, we can master what Umbrella failed to do with Nemesis."

"Nemesis?" Steve voiced. "What's that?"

"It was a Tyrant, of a sort." Wesker dug out another folder from his desk. He handed over a photograph of the Nemesis.

"Holy fuck," the boy said, his eyes wide. "That's one nasty looking guy."

"Nemesis was the most human-like Tyrant Umbrella made. It was able to make its own decisions, but at the same time, it was programmed to track down certain people and destroy them."

"What's the point? Why not just send something like us out?"

"Umbrella has yet to achieve what The Agency has. If Umbrella wants to succeed in creating monsters that can pass off as human, they need to take a better look at the genetics of their test subjects. This Brenda lady probably wouldn't work out a humanoid Tyrant, but she may be able to become a Tyrant of great power."

Steve needed somewhat interested in what Wesker was saying, but he also seemed reserved "So, you're gonna find her, inject her with the virus without her consent and then make her suffer when she starts mutating?"

"Correct," Wesker said. "And, you're going to help."

"I'm not going to be a part of something like that." Steve didn't even think before he said it.

"You have no choice."

"Yes, I do."

"If you don't cooperate there will be great consequences. We're going to abduct her tonight when she is driving home."

Steve made a disgusted face. "That's sick. What's your problem, dude? This woman is completely innocent!"

"She's perfect for our plans," Wesker assured. Then, a moment later, he added, "And, Steven, do not call me _dude_."

Steve leaped off the stool. "No, seriously, _what's your problem_?" Steve yelled. "How can you just do this to someone?"

"It's a part of my research, Steve," he replied calmly. "You'll need to learn how to separate personal stands from what you're required to do."

And, with that said, Wesker picked up the tray that held the blood samples and exited the lab, not even bothering to look back at Steve.

xxxxx

It was around 7:30 p.m.

Wesker and Steve had left the facility around three o'clock but stopped to pick up an order from The Agency Department of Information. Steve wasn't sure what the whole thing was about, but they had to wait almost three hours for the workers to finally locate the order. The order ended up being two large boxes of paperwork. Steve questioned what the files were about, but as always, Wesker wasn't willing to give any sort of helpful answer.

At the moment, they were driving on the highway, on their way to find that Brenda woman. The highway was dark and virtually unoccupied by any other cars, making Steve wonder just how far out they were driving. He could see some trees illuminating from the occasional street lamps every few feet, but other than that, wherever they were headed was desolate and just plain spooky. Much like earlier in the day, Steve had his head pressed against the window, incredibly bored and frustrated, and the cool air of the glass allowed the sunglasses he was wearing to transmit the coldness. The pair of glasses were, of course, a "present" from Wesker, who claimed it was a clever way to hide his Tyrant eyes. Steve didn't believe this was the exact reason the man wore his own all the time, but figured that, yeah, it was sort of clever, albeit, annoying to wear in the dark.

The boy wasn't even sure why Wesker wanted him to participate in this whole thing. He wasn't going to hurt the woman, he decided that much. She may have been an unattractive loner whose only enjoyment in life were her ten cats, but she was a human being. He knew what it was like to have something completely stolen, only to be replaced by complete horror. He kept telling himself it was unfair—so, so, _so _unfair—but what use was it? It got him nowhere. Maybe that girl, Sherry, had realized it, too. She seemed so sad and alone, but she sucked it up. She accepted this was her life and decided to find _some _enjoyment out of it. And, in between it all, she had to worry about school or if Wesker was suddenly going to grab her and inject her with the T-Virus.

_Is she comfortable with him? _he wondered, thinking about her colorful room, her decision to actually _decorate _it, as if proving the house was her new home.

Regardless, it seemed so farfetched that a 12 year old could up and adjust to such a horrific change. Claire cared for her enough to give the girl her jacket. It was obvious the two had gotten close, maybe even closer than he and the Redfield.

"I'm hungry," Steve complained, letting out a groan as he slipped away from his thoughts. Just as Steve said that, Wesker took an exit. The boy looked over to the man. "I thought you said she lived in Toronto. We've been driving forever."

"She lives on the outskirts," the man informed him. "The plan is to pull over on the side of the road and flash the hazard lights. She'll, of course, pull over to help when she sees us."

"Huh? How do you know?"

"She's a 35 year old widow, who is obviously desperate for human contact. She'll probably think pulling over to help will bring her to the man of her dreams."

Steve scoffed, pulling open the glove department. There, he saw a switchblade and a handgun. He grabbed the handgun and checked to see if it was loaded. "Sweet," he whispered. "But, really, you should have some automatics."

"Check the boxes in the back." Wesker pulled over on the side of the road. Dirt could be heard beneath the tires. There was barely a path bordered around the street.

"What?" Steve questioned. "I thought those were files."

"I never said that." Wesker switched on the hazard lights and got out of the car.

Steve put the handgun back in the glove box, getting out of the car as well. He shoved his way through the branches of the nearby trees, heading towards the back of the car where Wesker had opened the trunk. He was currently digging through one of the boxes, and inside, Steve saw a few guns, but the boy was drawn to the one that almost looked like a toy. He picked it up and looked in the barrel. Inside he could see something plastic.

"What is that?" he asked, showing Wesker.

"It's a tranquilizer," the blonde responded.

"So, what are all these other guns for? And, why don't I see any automatics? And, more importantly, why did you lie to me about what was in these boxes?"

"Once again, I didn't lie to you. I didn't even say anything. I just didn't want you getting all excited. Or worse, devastated to the point where you would start throwing a tantrum." Wesker took the tranquilizer gun from Steve.

"Well," Steve started, leaning against the car, "I really don't see the whole point of this. Why didn't you just kill me and turn me into a full Tyrant?"

"We've been through this, Steven." Wesker slammed the trunk shut. "And, I'm sure you're happier being alive and a Tyrant than dead and blown-up in the Antarctic."

Steve decided not to talk about _that _anymore. "What happens if I scream at this woman to run, tell her you are going to kill her before you're able to kidnap her?"

"I'm positive you don't want to know what I'll do. I already said we'll turn you into a full Tyrant if you dare do anything stupid like telling the public about The Agency, but screwing up a mission will result in a much more tortuous outcome."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off when a pair of headlights shone into his eyes. He moved his arm in front of his eyes to block the lights, but soon, the high beams went off. The car, which looked like some kind of model from the late 80s, slowed down. Wesker turned back around and opened the trunk again. He pretended to search for car tools. The car passed by them, parking in front of Wesker's.

"Tell me again why we're doing it this way?" Steve whispered. "Why not attack her at her house when she's asleep or something?"

"She lives in an apartment. It'd be awfully hard to break-in without anyone noticing or hearing something."

The woman finally stepped out of her car. "Is there a problem boys?" she asked. She had a very southern accent, and Steve had to wonder why she was in Canada _and _why she'd risk pulling over to help two _men. _Hadn't she ever heard of rapists or urban legends? Maybe she was as lonely as her file made her sound.

Wesker gave her a smile, something Steve hadn't expected to ever see on the man. "How kind of you," he greeted, almost in a flirtatious tone.

Steve covered his mouth, holding back laughter. He collected himself, thinking back to Wesker's threat. The warning didn't exactly scare him, but it did make him want to be a bit more cautious. He hardly knew this man for a week, and he truly wasn't sure of what he was capable of doing.

She swayed her way over to the two. "Well, what can I help ya with?" She inspected the tires of the cars. "Doesn't look like you got yourself a flat. Engine trouble?"

"Uh, yeah," Steve answered. "We've been driving for a good five hours. We're heading for the States. Maybe it's just the engine overheating."

"I don't know much about engines," the woman admitted. "I can give you a number to a mechanic or something. Hold on, let me get my phone book." She turned around and headed back to her car.

Steve furrowed her brow. "She doesn't seem _that _annoying."

"She's probably one of those women who has a charm for a few days, but eventually gets annoying as hell." Wesker took hold of the tranquilizer gun again. "Now that we know she's alone we can shoot her."

"Didn't you like my story?" Steve asked. "I thought it was brilliant."

"Good enough, but if you ask me, it sounded a bit cliché."

Steve rolled his eyes. He saw the woman heading back, phone book in her hands. As she was walking she flipped through some of the pages.

"Ah, here we go," she said. "There's an ad for 24-hour service. Say, if you two don't have a cell I'll gladly call for you."

Steve had to wonder how she viewed Wesker and him. They both were wearing sunglasses even though it was night and the age difference between them had to look strange. Maybe she thought they were father and son.

Steve decided to answer, "No, we don't have a phone."

"All right," she said, reaching into her purse. She began dialing rather slowly, constantly looking back at the page to make sure she had the right numbers. Steve was about to nudge Wesker, but before he had a chance, the woman let out a high-pitched squeal, falling to the floor, drained.

"Jesus," Steve mouthed, not even realizing he had shot the tranquilizer. He hadn't even _heard _it. Maybe that was the point, though. "Nice job," he commented, walking over to the woman and kicking her lightly.

"Now, you have a job to do," Wesker stated. "I need you to drive her car back to her apartment complex."

"What for?" Steve questioned.

"We can't very well leave it here. It'd be too suspicious. I have the address, so just follow me." Wesker opened the car door and bent down to grab the cellphone and phone book. He threw them into the car and then picked up the woman roughly. Just like the items, he threw her into the backseat. She hit her head on the other car door, but didn't stir one bit.

Steve walked over to her car, checking to see if the keys were still in the engine. They were, and he promptly opened the door and got in. For a moment, he was confused on what to do. He hadn't driven for over three months, and he almost thought he forgot. He looked in the rearview mirror, seeing Wesker start up his car. He got back on the road, and Steve started up his own car.

After a few minutes, Steve exhaled and turned on the radio. It was on a country station, which caused Steve to cringe. He channeled through the various stations, eventually settling on an alternative rock one. The redhead kept one hand on the wheel as he leaned over to look in the woman's glove box. There wasn't anything interesting there, so he slammed it shut and focused his attention on the road again. Wesker was driving awfully slow, so he sped up, purposely tailgating. Steve beeped and flashed the headlights continuously until he managed to get Wesker to flip him off. Steve scoffed loudly, proud to get that reaction out of the man.

The boy continued to snoop through the woman's things, eventually finding a pack of cigarettes under the passenger seat. Steve pressed for the car lighter to heat up and he lit the stick soon after. He never really enjoyed smoking, but he had his moments of rebellion back in New York. The whole act of filling his lungs with cancer was boring, but at the same time, he felt busy.

Wesker eventually made a left turn, and Steve followed. There was a narrow road, which lead to the apartments. Steve parked and got out of the car after stuffing the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He discarded his current stick, though it was barely half-burnt. He examined the woman's apartment building briefly. It was actually fairly decent looking, and Steve had to feel a bit bad about what he was doing. She had a life, whether it was happy or not.

Steve turned his attention back to Wesker's car when he heard the man honk loudly. He jumped back in the car with the man, turning around to look at the Brenda woman, who looked as if she was catching up on much-needed sleep.

"I'm glad to see you were obedient," Wesker said to him as they started driving.

"Thanks, master." Steve mockingly saluted. "Pretty adventureless if you ask me. I thought I was here to test my strength."

"No one said The Agency's work was constant action and gore. Besides, maybe I meant your mental capabilities"

"Would've made this whole event more interesting if I shot something," Steve groaned.

"If you want adventure I may just be able to help you. The Agency wants to investigate a shipment from the nearby Umbrella facility. It's arriving on Tuesday."

Steve yawned and then said, "That's tomorrow."

"Yes, it is. The facility is in Toronto."

"The Agency facility is in Toronto. Is your company stupid?"

"This Umbrella building is strictly used for presentations and other board meetings. I'm sure a few labs are here and there, but they don't even know The Agency exists." He paused for a moment. "Anyhow, they've already succeeded in creating a T-Veronica specimen, which may or may not be worth our time."

"And, what, we're just gonna break in and snatch it up? Does The Agency do any of their own work?"

"I may not take you, Steve. I don't know where your mind is at right now, and if you think you're going to use this mission to run off, there will be dire consequences."

"Stop threatening me," Steve muttered. "I don't even _want _to go. I may have helped you kidnap some innocent woman, but I'm not going to snoop around Umbrella's property like some deluded James Bond wannabe."

"It's not snooping," Wesker told the boy. "There's going to be a show, if you want to call it that. Some scientists will be presenting the specimen and getting the combat data on it is very important."

"Yawn!" Steve mockingly shouted, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"You smell like cigarette smoke," Wesker then noted, ignoring the boy's comment.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Dad!" he exclaimed, mastering his sarcasm. "It was only one, and I promise I'll never light a ciggy again!"

"Well, it's not like it's going to kill you," Wesker admitted, shrugging.

"You're wonderful at cheering people up." Steve took another cigarette out of the pack and threw his sunglasses down beneath his seat. Instead of smoking the stick, he tore it apart and let the contents fall on his lap.

An unpleasant smell emitted through the small car, which caused Wesker to roll down the window. The wind did nothing but blow around the small leaves and particles. He laughed when Wesker swatted at the grains.

Either annoyed or just wanting to find a way to ignore Steve, Wesker leaned forward and turned on the radio. He had some oldies station on, but he didn't seem to actually have an interest in the music. Steve recognized the current song as _One is the Loneliest Number_ by Three Dog Night.

"What the fuck!" he yelled. "This so isn't an _oldies_ song!"

"You have awful taste in music if you actually like this song, Steve," Wesker commented.

"Whatever," Steve dismissed. "I happen to like this song. _You're_ the one who fucking has on a station for people in their 40s and 50s!"

"I'm 38. Not too far off from being 40." Before Steve could respond to that, Wesker then said, "But, just for the record, I don't like oldies music. In fact, I think all music is terrible."

"_What_? No way are you 38!" Steve gawked at the man in disbelief, ignoring his latter statement.

Wesker said nothing more, silently confirming his age and Steve's surprise. The boy ended up shaking his head, displaying his amazement before reaching below his seat and pulling the lever that allowed him to gently lean backwards. He was just about to nod off when he remembered what else Wesker had said.

"Woah, wait," he voiced, furrowing his brow. "How can you say _all _music is terrible?"

All Wesker did was sigh in annoyance.

**End of Chapter Four**


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five:**

**The Show Must Go On**

xxxxx

Steve woke up to the sound of the television blaring downstairs. He buried his head under his pillow, groaning tiredly as he tried to get a few more minutes of shuteye. Moments later, he heard the vacuum start, the rough plastic slamming against the wood floor as the cleaner moved in various directions. He sighed, throwing the sheets off his body and stomping out into the hallway. He had just finished formulating a good insult to shout at Wesker (something along the lines of "Keep the goddamn noise down, you butt-fucking son of a whore!") when he realized it was _Sherry_ causing the ruckus.

The girl was wearing shorts and a red tank top, dressed rather thinly for a January day. It was Saturday, he remembered quickly, meaning Sherry had the day off. Apparently, however, Wesker still worked, because the man was nowhere to be seen.

"You're finally awake," Sherry yelled over the vacuum.

"Yeah, because of _you_," he sneered, going back into his room and slamming the door. He wasn't going to try to get more sleep, but he decided dressing properly would be showing good manners. He stripped from his wife-beater and night shorts, throwing them onto his bed. He grabbed one of the few pairs of jeans from his closet and a black shirt. After he dressed, he returned to the hallway and saw Sherry vacuuming her room. Figuring she was too busy to talk, he walked to the bathroom, only to find a note there. It read:

_Figured this was the first place you'd go. Do me a favor and call me when you read this._

What an asshole. It wasn't even signed!

Steve crinkled up the note and deposited it in the trash, figuring he'd brush his teeth before following through with Wesker's "favor." Oddly enough, Wesker had gone through the trouble of buying Steve a shitload of clothes, but for whatever reason, he failed to provide a toothbrush. Sherry had apparently noticed this and bought him one from a gas station she walked by every day on her way to school. It was a cheap and it was wimpy, but Steve was almost touched by her gift. At least she was more thoughtful than Wesker.

When Steve left the bathroom, he made his way downstairs and into the living room. By now, Sherry had stopped vacuuming, so he turned down the volume on the television. She had it on CNN, the little weirdo.

"Do you clean every day?" Steve asked, watching as the girl began balancing herself down the stairs, lugging the vacuum cleaner with her.

"No, only on the weekends. I think Wesker has a maid come to the house while I'm at school, so don't freak out if there's a Mexican woman in here randomly." She reached the bottom of the stairs and shoved the vacuum in a nearby closet. "So, what were you up to last night? You guys got home around 2 a.m."

"I doubt it was _that _late," he protested. Then again, they _had _dropped dear, ole Brenda off to the labs after they left her apartment, and Wesker ended up spending time in the facility doing paperwork for her before they managed to arrive home. Steve pretty much lost track of time after midnight.

"What were you up to?" she asked again.

Steve plopped himself on the couch. "Why so curious?"

"Well, if you are hurting people…" she began, trailing off before Steve could figure out whether she was going to make a threat or just share an opinion.

It wasn't like Steve needed to be chided, though. After they got home, Steve threw himself into his bed, falling asleep almost instantly before letting any thoughts of guilt or regret overcome him. Even while riding back to the facility, Steve managed to avoid any of those thoughts. Sure, he felt sorry for the woman, but after a while he wasn't sorry for what _he did. _Maybe it was the virus inside him, brainwashing him to have no more human emotions. He had feared that from day one, mostly because he didn't want to lose all his feelings for Claire, which he sometimes considered his last shred of humanity.

Snapping back to reality, Steve just shrugged and said, "It was work-related."

"_Pfft_, like you know anything about The Agency. You've been 'working' for them for—what, two days?—and you think you're some head honcho. Pathetic."

"Well, do you want to know the bloody, gore-filled truth?" he asked, smiling cruelly.

Sherry narrowed her eyes and whispered something that sounded like "pissant" or "prick" under her breath. When she walked off, he smiled again, but this time, it was purely out of enjoyment. Words like those didn't make her seem older or wiser, just more innocent, for some reason.

"What time is it?" he asked, reaching over for the phone that was set on the glass coffee table. "And do you know Wesker's work number?"

Sherry was in the kitchen. "It's 3:30, and Wesker doesn't have a work number. It depends on where he is in the facility."

"Do you know where he is?" he yelled back, looking over his shoulder to the kitchen.

"No," she droned, coming back into the living room. "Just call the front office. It's 293-1100."

Steve nodded along as he dialed the numbers. A secretary of some sort answered, and he asked to be directed to Albert Wesker. The woman put him on hold.

"Got everything under control?" Sherry asked, speaking to him like he was four years old.

"Yeah," he answered and watched as Sherry went back into the kitchen.

Suddenly, a voice on the other end of the phone spoke:

"This is Dr. Wesker speaking."

"Ooh-la-la, _Dr. _Wesker."

"You're awake," the man said, sounding annoyed.

"Yeah. Why didn't you take me with you?"

"Why are you so jolly?"

Steve paused for a moment, suddenly wondering the same. "I… I don't know."

"Well, I'm picking you up in an hour. We have business."

"Of what kind, sir?" Steve asked, mockingly professional.

"You're going to the Umbrella facility," the blonde replied. "To watch the presentation and record the combat data."

"I said I wasn't going," Steve snapped. "It's one thing to kidnap, but completely another to break into—"

"You gave that speech last night, and frankly, _Steven_, I'm getting fed-up with your bipolar mood swings, so I don't care what you have to say. You're going, and that's the end of it."

"Fuck you," he spat out. "I'm not your little lap dog."

"What are you so afraid of?" Wesker demanded, his tone on edge. "Are you afraid one little mission will make you a lifelong slave to The Agency, or are you scared you'll enjoy it?"

Steve had enough. He threw the phone on the table, and in an instant, the glass broke, emitting an echo throughout the house. Sherry came running out of the kitchen with wide eyes, gaping both visually and vocally.

"What the—?" she cut herself off, looking confused. "What's your problem, you moron?"

"Wesker is such a goddamn bastard!" Steve screamed, tipping over a potted plant next to the couch. The jar broke and dirt tumbled onto the wooden floor. "How can you fucking _stand _him?"

Sherry said nothing. She just watched the boy's tantrum.

"I hate him! I hope he fucking dies, that stupid prick!" After throwing a small figurine of an angel across the room, he slumped down to the floor and stared at his feet.

"I'm… sorry," Sherry said.

Steve shook his head, dismissing the apology. "What are you sorry about? It's _Wesker, _not you."

"What did he do now?" she asked, heaving a sigh.

"He wants to me his little slave," Steve explained bitterly. "He wants me to fucking work for him against my will."

"Just a minute ago you were claiming to be involved in stuff 'work-related.'"

"I didn't know what I was talking about," he admitted. "Maybe I said that because last night was kind of fun. But, he wants me to break into an Umbrella lab with him, and that's just so… _screwed up_."

"You hate Umbrella," Sherry voiced. "Why does it matter if you're screwing with them?"

"Because I'll feel like a hypocrite! What good am I if I hate Umbrella, but work for a company just like it?"

"Wesker hates Umbrella," Sherry stated. "It's completely obvious."

"Yeah, but he _did _work for them. My life was stolen because of them."

"Well, so was mine," the girl said quietly. "But, here I am, living with Albert Wesker, relying on him."

Steve shrugged, not seeing the connection. "You have no other choice."

The girl stepped over the mess and to wards Steve. She sat down next to him, collecting her thoughts before saying, "Neither do you. But, tell me, since waking up, how many times did you attempt running away?"

"Well, _once_, but I thought about doing it a billion times since then."

"You could've run away yesterday and today, when Wesker wasn't here to guard you. You didn't, and that's not because you're comfortable, but because you have no where to go."

"I have… Claire…"

"Claire's not here," Sherry recited, an obvious echoing of something Wesker had told her over and over again. "And, she's nowhere you can find her either."

"I just want to die," the boy whispered, resting his head on his knees. "I don't want to be a Biological Weapon. It's unfair."

"I know you'd rather be a monster than dead."

"Would _you_?" Steve inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Sherry shrugged. "I don't know. Of course I want to live, but after seeing what something like the T-Virus can do, my humanity means so much to me."

Steve shook his head, a gesture saying he was sick and tired. He stood up, scanning the living room and seeing the destruction he made. "Jesus. I'm sorry. I'll clean it up, I swear."

"It's all right," Sherry told him. "_I'll _clean it. Besides, there's glass everywhere, and I wouldn't want you to step in it and leak your infected blood everywhere."

The russet-haired boy frowned. "You make it sound like AIDS or something."

Sherry gave him a pointed look. "Seriously, don't worry about it. I know how to clean better than you do."

xxxxx

If Claire truly was going to the conference, she was going to need all the luck she could get. She figured that from the beginning, but now that she was actually _getting ready_, it seemed like she was getting more and more nervous. She had on a pair of gray dress pants, as well as a white shirt with a matching gray business jacket. Jill helped her apply some makeup to her cheeks, making dots here and there to match the freckles on Carly Mesh's face. She had her face tied back in two braids, and although Miss Mesh did not style her hair that way in the picture, it made Claire look like a fucking dork. And, sadly, it helped.

She was staring at herself in the mirror as she thought of what that Carly woman looked like. She wondered what would happen if she ended up getting caught. Would she be taken to Rockfort Island again? After all, the island still was up and running according to Rebecca and Carlos. She supposed she was overly nervous since there was a slight change of plans. Although the presentation was not initially the reason to go, they had decided it would be best for Claire to sit through it, just so they could be aware of Umbrella's current projects. Halfway through she would leave and attempt a search around the facility for the data disc, which they suspected would be in an office.

Sighing, Claire left the bathroom and entered the living room with her shoulders sagging. Jill and Leon were in the kitchen while Chris sat at the couch impatiently. As soon as he got a good look at his sister he scoffed loudly, throwing back his head with delight.

"Oh, man!" he exclaimed wildly. "You look so—"

"—stupid?" Claire finished. "I _know._"

"Don't listen to Chris," Leon said from the kitchen. "You look fine."

"Yeah, right," Claire muttered, walking over to her bag, which was resting on the coffee table. "Is there any way I can sneak a gun into the place?"

Chris bit his bottom lip. "There probably is a way, but we can't risk it. We don't know if they're going to scan your stuff."

Claire nodded and stared at her items in the bag. "Oh!" she shouted suddenly. "Have you finished pirating the I.D.?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jill said, reaching for something on the kitchen counter. She walked out to Claire, giving it to her proudly. "Nice job we did, eh?"

Claire took the card and looked at it briefly. "Hmm," she hummed, bringing it up to the light. Chris and Jill _certainly did _do a good job. "It looks absolutely authentic. Though, should I be concerned by what else you can do?" She smirked as she rubbed her fingers up and down the laminated paper.

Jill took the card back from the Redfield, stuffing it in the bag. "I'm putting this in now, because if you forget it, you're screwed."

Claire brushed back some of the hair dangling in front of her eyes. "So, I _do _look like her, though?"

"You truly do," Leon said, honestly. "I don't think anyone will be able to tell the difference between the girl in the picture and the girl standing in front of them."

"But, what if someone actually _knows _her? What then?"

Jill shrugged. "You fake knowing them back."

"But, what if, like, they know her _really _well?" Claire argued.

"We already know the risks," Leon stated, "and even although it's scary as hell to make you go—and alone for that matter—we gotta look on the optimistic side of this all."

_The optimistic side, _Claire thought back to herself. That certainly made sense. Besides, what would she accomplish by worrying about every little thing that happened? She didn't do that in Raccoon City or on Rockfort. _Then again, _her mind protested, _you never had everything planned out like you do now._

Jill walked over to the computer, snatching something from the printer tray. "Last minute tickets to Toronto," she informed Claire, waving the papers back and forth. "You'll be taking the bus there."

Claire wandered over to the door, grabbing her dress boots from the shoe rack. "How long will the ride be?"

Jill rubbed the back of her neck. "You'll arrive there earlier than 7 o'clock, that's for sure."

"Okay, I think I'm ready," Claire said. She grabbed her bag from the table again. "Who's driving me to the station?"

Chris got up from the couch. "I will," he volunteered. "Leon and Jill are going to stay here, just in case anything comes up from Rebecca."

Both Jill and Leon went up to the Redfields. Leon gave Claire a hug and quick pat on the back. "Be _careful_," he said, almost sounding demanding. He let go of her and let Jill have her turn.

"Listen to your lover-boy: be careful." She gave Claire a knowing smile, causing Claire to lightly blush.

"Make a call from a pay phone as _soon _as you get off the bus, okay?" the ex-cop reminded her.

"I'll try. Be good, kids." Claire pursed her lips afterwards.

Chris said a quick goodbye to Jill and Leon, then left the apartment with Claire. Once the siblings were out of the building and into the car, Claire let out a long, tiring sigh. Chris started up the engine and looked over to his sister sadly.

"You don't have to be so worried, you know."

"I've been through worse than a stupid little conference," she reminded herself, "and I can say that without even having gone _through _the conference yet."

Chris put a hand on her shoulder. "You'll do fine. I promise."

xxxxx

Steve looked at the clock that read 5:00. Wesker was late, and Steve wondered if he was even coming at all. The boy had calmed down and even ended up helping Sherry move the broken coffee table out into the garage. Even having calming down, he still didn't want to go to the presentation. And that was final.

_So, why the _hell _are you still waiting around for Wesker?_

That question had plagued him since he realized Wesker was only ten minutes late. He supposed there was _some _part—some tiny, itty bitty part—of him that was curious. After all, maybe he could agree to work with Wesker and try to gain the man's trust. That way, he could use his capabilities of getting Umbrella information to destroy the company and eventually find Claire… if she accepted him.

Steve decided he was not going to attempt a pointless self-analysis. At that moment, he heard a car slam outside. He looked out his bedroom window, seeing Wesker outside. Wesker didn't look mad; he didn't even seem to care he was late. But, then again, when did he _ever _show that kind of emotion?

The boy left his room and headed down the stairs. Just as he stepped foot in the living room, Wesker came through the door. The two looked at each other, but Wesker quickly looked away, noticing the coffee table was missing.

"Where's my table?" he asked, walking into the living room. "And, where's my plant?"

"_Your _table, _your _plant?" Steve could barely contain the amusement in his tone. "Boy, you sure are lonely if the only things you care about in your life are inanimate objects."

Wesker then wondered, "Where's Sherry?"

"I don't know. In her room, I guess. Anyhow, I kind of… _broke _the table and plant pot."

"Doing what?"

"Throwing a tantrum." He shrugged. "I didn't mean to, it's just… after your phone call I was really upset."

"But, you've calmed down," the man concluded. "Good, because it's time to go."

Steve lowered his eyes. "No, I'm not going."

"Why are you so certain?"

"Because…" he answered, trailing off.

"This presentation should last only three hours or so," Wesker explained. "If this creature is what we think it is, there might be another trip in a week or two."

"What you think it is?" Steve repeated. "And, what _do you _think it is?"

Wesker's lips formed a cocky grin. "Steve, if you were set on not going due to your moral standards, you wouldn't ask questions like that."

Steve muttered something under his breath. "So, maybe I'm intrigued with Umbrella's work, but that doesn't mean I'm going to work for The Agency."

Wesker shrugged. "Suit yourself." He wandered into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water. "But, the specimen might be a Tyrant. A Tyrant created with the T-Veronica."

Steve almost seemed insulted. "What the hell am _I_?"

"Well, Steven, you're not a very good specimen. You have a conscious, which, while is both good and bad, has proven to be mostly bad in your case. Your lovely moral standards get in the way of you being a perfect weapon. This Tyrant may actually be stronger, too, so it's a definite reason for us to see for ourselves."

"Whatever," Steve muttered, and it was obvious he was threatened. "If I go there… I don't have to harm anyone, right?"

"Unless the Tyrant breaks lose and starts attacking everyone, no."

"And, how are you sure I won't get caught?"

"We hacked the Umbrella database and set up a fake worker I.D. for you. You'll use it to get past security, and after that no one will care who you are."

"You know," Steve mused, his mind analyzing what Wesker just said, "I still haven't met my so-called 'boss.'"

"Like I've said before, Trent is out of town at the moment. That doesn't mean The Agency's activities come to end. The show must go on, as they say."

"For circuses," Steve added, rolling his eyes.

"The presentation doesn't start until 7 o'clock," Wesker stated, changing the subject. "We have plenty of time to get there, as long as you get ready right now."

"What do I wear?" he wondered.

"You have tons of casual suits in your closet. Just pick out one and stop asking so many goddamn questions."

xxxxx

By the time Claire opened her eyes it was as dark as it was when she had originally fallen asleep. She felt rested, but the light almost made her feel like she hadn't even gotten a wink of shuteye. She checked her watch and saw that it was 6 o'clock sharp. The bus was still moving, but from the tall buildings and bright streetlights, she knew she was in Toronto. She had been here before, and she couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Toronto looking identical to New York City, albeit less dumpy.

Sighing, she threw off her headphones and looked around the bus. There were mostly elders, but a few youngsters, including a teenager, were on board, too. She stretched and then put her CD player back in her bag. Inside her brown suitcase-like tote she had a notepad, pen, non-prescription glasses, lab coat and a copy of the building's blueprint. She also had the fake I.D., of course. She took it out, examining the laminated card and found herself stifling a chuckle. Jill and Chris did an excellent job counterfeiting it. It looked 100 percent real, but she still worried whether or not the scan tags would work properly. After all, she was going after the data disc of passcodes, too.

Around the vehicle, people started moving around, getting up from their seats and rushing to the exit. Claire had been rather lost in thought, and she didn't realize the bus had stopped. She stood up as well, pushing her way towards the door. When she got out she looked for the street name. 23rd street, the nearest sign read. She had a ways to walk, but there was an hour until the presentation. She could have even been early if she didn't dawdle.

Claire put on the pair of glasses just in case some of Umbrella's slaves were wandering around the city and recognized her face. With her mousy apparel and dorky glasses no one would give her a second glance. Or, so she hoped.

When she spotted a payphone nearby she walked over to it calmly. She inserted a couple of coins and dialed the number to the apartment. Not even a full ring went by before someone answered.

"Little worried?" Claire greeted with glee.

"You're safe…" the voice on the other end said. It was Leon's.

"Gee, Leon, you can't even pretend to have faith in me?"

"I have faith in you," the ex-cop stated, "but I care about you, so I _have to_ worry."

Claire smiled to herself. "Well, I guess that's—"

"—_Claire_?" Chris suddenly said on the other line. He obviously grabbed the phone from Leon.

"Yeah, I'm safe…" Claire replied.

"Thank _God_," he breathed. "So, where are you?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but I'm here and I have an hour until the conference."

"Explore the city, then."

"I think I'm actually going to get there a little early. Might give me a chance"—she lowered her voice—"to explore the facility a little. You know, get a good look around."

"Better idea," Chris said.

"Well, I'll try giving you a call as soon as the conference is over, okay?"

"All right. Just _be careful._"

Claire smiled to herself. "Don't worry. I'll be fine." She returned the phone to the receiver, continuing to smile lightly at herself. It was sweet to hear the worry in Chris' voice, despite having said over and over that she was strong and had nothing to worry about.

The girl began walking towards the facility with the directions in her hands. She knew she'd locate the building fine when she got closer. After all, Umbrella just _loved _their logo, and it would be printed everywhere possible on the building. Sure enough, after a while she spotted the building, mostly due to the fact a big billboard guided her to her destination. She stood across the street from the facility, looking at the towering structure. It looked like most of the building consisted of offices, but she knew not to underestimate Umbrella's little secrets. She was probably standing over an underground lab at that very moment.

"Well, here goes nothing," she whispered to herself. She crossed the street gingerly, glancing to the left and the right just in case some scary Umbrella worker was eyeing her. When she made it inside the building her stomach sunk again as she spotted the various scanning devices for her body and personal items.

"May I help you?" a woman called out from behind the main desk.

"Oh, I…" Claire started, trying to give the woman good eye contact. "I'm here for the conference."

"That's splendid, but you're awfully early." She smiled happily, and it was so happy, in fact, that Claire had to wonder if she knew _anything _about Umbrella. "Well, just go through there and to your left." She pointed at the security scanner.

Claire nodded, her grip on her bag becoming tighter. A few guards were standing near the scanner, which only made her nervousness increase.

_Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it. Chris and Jill knew what they were doing. You'll be fine._

She walked up to them, handing them the I.D. card with a straight face. It all turned into some surreal slow motion movement when they swiped the back through the slot. She closed her eyes.

"The auditorium is to your left, Miss Mesh," the guard said, handing back the card.

Claire nodded, managing to smile, too. She took her card and rushed through the body scanner. It didn't go off, and again, she had to let out a sigh of relief.

Ahead, she saw the auditorium doors with more guards and scanners in front of it. Claire decided not to deal with that yet, so she took notice of the buffet in the large open room. There was a sign that read:

_For the guests and audience, compliments of Lord Spencer._

Ah, yes. Ozwell Spencer. Now, _he_ was one of the biggest enigmas in all of Umbrella. Being head of the company already made him beyond evil, but from what she read about him in files he certainly didn't sound like the kind of guy you'd want as an ally, even if he _was _your boss. Alfred and Alexia hid so much from him, and sure enough now, he was kicking himself in the ass for not realizing all their dirty secrets, which had undoubtedly come out after Rockfort Island was attacked.

_What a disappointment, _Claire thought as she stared at the food. She was already sick from fear of exposure and eating wouldn't help unless she was determined to throw up everywhere. Claire turned, figuring if she didn't work up the courage to get into the auditorium at that moment, she would never be able to do it later. She wished she had more time to go explore the facility. Maybe then she could've taken the opportunity to search for the disc.

"Oh, miss, excuse me!" a man exclaimed as she bumped right into his chest.

Claire looked up to the man, who was a middle-aged guy with short gray hair. He smiled warmly, and Claire stared down at her feet. "I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't looking."

"Don't worry about it. What's your name?"

"My name? I'm Carly Mesh."

"Mesh, eh? Never heard of you. What department do you work for?"

_Oh, God, hell if I know, _she replied mentally. But, she did know some of Carly's background. "I'm in the Paris division."

"Oh! I used to work there for about a year or two, but transferred out once the whole Nemesis Project got going."

_Yeah, hey, let me tell you about how that big meatbag of a monster was unleashed on Raccoon City and stalked my friend Jill Valentine._

"The Nemesis is interesting," Claire responded stiffly, "but far too complicated for me."

"So, being all the way from Paris you must be a part of some kind of important research in order to be invited here." He held up his champagne glass and sipped slowly.

Claire wondered briefly if getting sloshed would help her calm down. "_Ah, _yes," she said, nodding. "I'm working on the evolution of the G-Virus. We're trying to work on how quickly subjects transform after injection."

Well, it sounded convincing to her, but she knew she hadn't used the right lingo or even the right tone. Thankfully, the guy seemed distracted by her looks. Claire would have normally given him the glare of death, but it was working at her—

—a large _crash _emitted throughout the small room, and Claire found herself turning on her heel, purely by instinct.

_Someone spotted me__—_

—_shit, was that a gun shot?—_

—_something is fucking wrong—_

Her frazzled thoughts settled down, and when she realized a plate had simply been dropped she turned bright red. She was paranoid, and anybody would be able to see it. Quickly, she returned to facing the man and shrugged.

"Somebody must be new to formal dining," she said, nonchalant, but it was probably the lamest thing she ever said in her life. She shook off her paranoia, quickly stating, "Listen, I want to get a good seat while I have the chance. I'll see you later." She smiled, but managed to get away before the man could stop her or even say his own farewell.

Rushing back to the auditorium Claire took a random seat and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. A long exhale escaped her lips and she muttered a curse.

_In a couple of hours, this will be over, _she told herself.

xxxxx

Something wasn't sitting right in Steve's stomach. He felt nervous, of course, but as they continued to get closer and closer to the Umbrella facility, Steve began to feel downright ill. And, that wasn't what he needed.

"God, I think I'm gonna throw up," he finally told Wesker.

"You can handle sitting down and watching a presentation. If not, I shouldn't have bothered making such a fuss over wanting you brought back to life."

Steve held his stomach. "Oh, man," he grunted. "Maybe I need some food or something." Steve doubted it, though. He knew he wasn't hungry. He just really didn't want to go through with this, mostly because he feared the worst.

The boy readjusted himself in the car, trying to look at his eyes in the rearview mirror. Earlier, Wesker had given him a pair of green contact lenses, the color of his original, human eyes. They itched uncomfortably, making his eyes feel very dry. He itched them lightly with his knuckle, trying his best not to irritate the lenses' position. When he looked back up where they were, Steve saw a glittering sign hung high on one of the many buildings. The white and red umbrella seemed to jump right at him. He was about to say something, but before he knew it the car was pulled over and the doors were clicked unlocked.

"On your way."

"Just like_ that_?" Steve screeched. "Aren't you going to give me directions or something?"

"Of what sort? You go in the building, you find your way to the presentation room, you take a seat, you wait for it to begin, you take notes, the end."

"Yeah, but…" Steve shrugged his shoulders, looking for more. "Don't I need something?"

Wesker reached into the back seat, grabbing a small folder. He handed it to Steve. The boy took it, finding an I.D., a notepad and a pen clipped on the cardboard folder. Just like the material you'd bring on the first day of school.

"Martin Kramer? You didn't even try to give me a nice name. Hey, where'd you get this picture?" Steve asked, looking at the I.D. curiously. "Wait! Oh, fuck! This is from my Rockfort mugshot! You bastard!"

Wesker seemed to roll his eyes. "Don't even start, Steven. God, you're like some menstrual teenage girl."

Steve pursed his lips, staring at the small photo. It just seemed so cruel to have his mugshot printed onto an I.D. that would help him spy on the very company who had imprisoned him. It was beyond irony. He threw open the door and stomped out of the car.

"I hope you fucking crash on the way home," he hissed.

"That's awfully nice. I hope they discover you right when you enter the building."

"Who says I'm not going to run off into the city and become a hobo?"

"I think you're more fit for a street hustler," Wesker quipped blandly.

Before Wesker could see Steve's expression, he turned away and started heading for the entrance. He tried his best to make it appear as if he was sulking, but Wesker was a smart man; he would see that Steve wasn't going to run off into the city. And, Steve had to curse Wesker once again for somehow having the upper-hand at all times.

"Greetings!" a woman chirped loudly from the clerk bureau. "How may I help you?"

"I'm here for the presentation," Steve blurted out. He would've regretted being so casual, but at least it sounded sincere.

"Rather early," she commented, remaining to smile dumbly. Surely she was just a decoration for the room rather than a necessary worker. "Just go through the body scan and take a left." Again, she smiled.

Steve nodded and approached the large device that would either grant his entrance or cause him to be thrown into a jail cell. He handed over the I.D. and walked through. He only heard a small buzz, which meant he was accepted.

_Okay, good_,he thought. So, he had no problem getting through the security system. It hadn't been a real concern to him, because he trusted Wesker's ability to fake the I.D. It wasn't like the man would purposely set the boy up to get caught.

Looking over to a crowd of people lining up at the auditorium's entrance, Steve noticed that not only were I.D,s being scanned again, names were being looked-up on what appeared to be a guest list. Many of the workers were older, maybe in their forties or fifties. A few people here and there looked like they were in their twenties, and they seemed alienated from the crowd because of it. Steve knew others must have thought of him as a worthless employee, simply because he looked like a prepubescent dork, but if he said he was 25, it might have made them soften-up just a tad.

With so many people roaming the building, there was, of course, a strong scent of humans in the room that Steve couldn't deny to have noticed. His contact lenses made his surroundings a little less vivid, though it didn't affect the way he could see their movements ever-so slowly, as if they were all moving in a form of slow motion.

Steve started walking towards the conference room, receiving even more odd looks when people realized he was attending the conference. He flashed his I.D. through the machine, which beeped with acceptance. The man standing nearby checked the computer and gestured to the room after finding the name on the guest list.

_Martin Kramer, _Steve thought dully. _What a stupid name. I don't even _look _like a Martin._

The inside of the room was rather bland, mostly looking like something out of a cheap alien movie. A large portion of the room was taken up by the many aisles of seats, all of which faced an enormous observation window, behind it undoubtedly the spectator's room.

What if whatever experiment broke through the glass and attacked the audience? Steve himself didn't have to worry about being mutilated, but surely the virus-infected monster would cause a major outbreak. Wouldn't _that _just be something? Then, how many outbreaks would that be in less than a year for Umbrella? Four? Five? Twelve?

Rolling his eyes, Steve just took a seat several rows away from the window. He felt like he was going to see a movie, and soon, his friends, all of whom he really didn't like, would be joining him. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back to when he was still in high school and how he would constantly interact with his so-called friends, who wanted to do nothing but smoke cigarettes and pot. They would hang out at the local theater, but Steve could only count three times where he actually paid to get inside. Otherwise, he would sneak in with his friends, usually ending up smoking and yelling obnoxious things in the back row. Steve would've proceeded to laughing at the memories of immaturity, but for some reason, he couldn't. It felt like it didn't matter anymore, like his images were so useless and maybe didn't even belong to him. They were barely even there anymore.

Frustrated, the boy sat up and went back to the hallway. He heard about refreshments of some sort earlier, and even though he was far from hungry, he felt like he needed to busy himself before the show started.

The small buffet of food stood in the middle of the room. Just to appear inconspicuous, he took a plate and began filling it with shrimp and green beans. It wasn't a meal he was fond of, but at least it looked like he was a normal human, just wanting to fill his stomach.

As a Tyrant, he actually ate more than what was considered healthy for the average human. He discovered he had a good metabolism and probably wouldn't gain a pound. He was actually already bigger than he had been as a human, gaining most of what had to be muscle, but compared to most men, he still looked willowy. Steve may have never cared much about his appearance, but he was actually angry that he couldn't gain weight back in his days of humanity. His scrawny body couldn't get him on the wrestling team, so he switched between swimming and track, which made him feel like a pansy. It hardly gave him a body structure. As much as he hated to admit it, he _liked_ what the T-Veronica did to his body. He looked strong, but still lean and small at the same time. He mainly filled his hunger with junk food, mostly because Wesker had never mentioned what was proper to eat. Although the man also stated he wouldn't need to eat human meat to live, Steve sometimes felt like he _wanted _to do so. _That_ scared him to no end. He didn't want to be like those lifeless, brain-dead zombies. He didn't want to act out on what the virus wanted him to do. _He _needed to stay in control, not the virus.

When Steve finished filling his plate, he sat down at an empty table and began to eat. The taste of fried shrimp distracted him from the smell of meaty humans. The thought caused him to glance up, looking at the humans' bodies, wondering which part would be the bloodiest, the juiciest. He dropped his fork, finding instant dislike for the current food.

There was one woman he began to stare at with complete fascination. She was talking to an older, much taller, man who was examining the woman's I.D. around her neck. When the woman smiled the man's eyebrow raised. There was something odd about the woman, though. She looked so young, but the nerdy glasses and loose clothing made her look old. Part of her shoulder blade was exposed due to the baggy clothing, and Steve gulped at the sight. A desire to press his mouth against her undoubtedly warm skin formed; he wanted to sink his teeth into it and _taste _it.

Steve then squinted, discovering something familiar about her shape. Maybe he had seen her picture in a file. Wanting to get a closer look, he got up and refilled his plate. He soon heard the woman say:

"My name? I'm Carly Mesh."

At the sound of her voice—_that _voice—Steve's plate slipped from his hands, falling onto the floor. The food splattered around the carpet, but the padding wasn't enough for the plate. It shattered, and the sound caused most heads to turn. When Steve saw the woman—no, _girl_—look towards him, he quickly turned the other way, sinking to his knees with shock.

It was Claire Redfield.

_Claire, Claire, Claire._

Maybe she looked a little different, but there was no doubt it was her, and that gaudy appearance was completely intentional.

_Why is she here? _he demanded inside his head. Before someone came over to help Steve, he gathered the unsanitary food, as well as some large pieces of the plate and rushed over to a dirty dish cart, dumping it rudely.

Steve took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts before he looked back to see his old friend. But, she wasn't there anymore. For a moment, he thought perhaps he had imagined all of it. He couldn't have, though; he saw her so clearly, and why would he envision her so… dorky? But, no, beneath all of it, Steve recognized the beautiful girl he met on Rockfort.

Without thinking, Steve ran over to the man she'd been talking to, grabbing his shirt collar, and asked loudly, "_Who was she_?"

"W-What?" The man raised his eyebrows high, looking down at Steve's hands. "You mean that young lady?"

"Yes! Who is she?"

"Calm down, sir!" he coaxed. "Miss Mesh was simply discussing the conference with me. She went into the auditorium."

Steve dropped his grip and raced back to the auditorium, barely stopping to let the guard check his I.D. again. The man must have recognized Steve, because he didn't try to stop him.

The redhead scanned the room, seeing the woman once again. She was just taking a seat when he found her. And, by God, yes: it was Claire Redfield.

_She's here spying, _a voice told him, _and fuck it, technically that means you're the enemy._

No. That couldn't be true. Steve just wouldn't allow himself to believe it.

The boy quietly walked to a seat two rows behind Claire's, staring with awe at the back of her head. No one was sitting between the rows, so his view contained nothing but her. She looked so different with her hair in braids, with glasses on, with freckles obviously _painted _onto her cheeks. Steve was so close that he could actually smell her, and not her meaty skin, but her natural, soapy scent that reminded him of when they fell asleep on the plane to Antarctica. And, now, she was sitting a mere five feet away from him. He realized that although he pined for her daily, he hadn't actually given a single thought about reuniting with her. Part of him always thought that he would just stay with Wesker until he went insane and popped a few bullets into his own skull. That, or ran away to hide inside a cave. He knew finding Claire would be hard and even harder to convince her he was sane, regardless if the virus was in his blood.

_Shit!_

Steve suddenly thought of what he would tell Wesker and Sherry. What would he say to them? Did he even _have to _tell them? Then, the most confusing question came to him: Should he reveal himself to her? He had ducked when she turned to look at him, and he knew deep down that it was a subconscious act, almost as if he _knew _he couldn't allow her to see him. It couldn't have meant something else. He thought, for a second, if perhaps he kept from Claire's sight because he didn't want to reunite with her, but he surely wasn't Home Sweet Home with Wesker. There was a definite weariness of ditching The Agency for Claire. He could see the coldness in Wesker's eyes, and it made him purse his lips with dread.

_Claire, _he thought, _I truly have missed you…_

He resisted the urge to reach out and stroke the Redfield's hair, call out her name and grab her hand as they ran out of the building to begin their happy, carefree life. Steve felt himself leaning forward, his fingers spreading as he moved to touch her backside. He was inches away, so close that he could feel the heat of her body, and—

—and the lighting in the room brightened, emitting a small, echoing _click_. Steve jerked back into his seat, suddenly noticing that many people were sitting around him. A swarm of people were now entering the room, rushing to their seats.

The presentation was beginning.

Steve went to look at Claire again, but someone was already sitting in front of him. He moved to the left a little bit and saw Claire reaching into her coat pocket, grabbing a notebook and pen. He too had his own to jot notes in, but right now, he didn't care about writing a single dawn thing down. Claire was in the same room as him, and yet, there was no difference if they were a million miles apart, because revealing himself meant trouble.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing loudly. Bright lights fell upon the front of the room and complete silence made its way across the crowd. A man walked in front of the glass window. He smiled his dull, old man smile, but Steve hardly noticed. He was still gazing at the back of Claire's head.

"Thank you for joining us, Umbrella employees," the man greeted warmly. "You all are here because you have proven yourself worthy of witnessing your company's latest and greatest accomplishment."

Steve narrowed his eyes as he began to listen to the man. He felt like a complete traitor at that sudden moment. Claire was here to investigate; he was here to sabotage. The boy knew that if he had eaten more of that terrible shrimp, he would be slugging over and emptying his stomach contents onto the floor.

He never felt sicker in all his life and that included the chaos of Rockfort Island.

**End of Chapter Five**


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six: **

**Red and Yellow Make Orange**

xxxxx

"Thank you for joining us, Umbrella employees," the man greeted warmly. "You all are here because you have proven yourself worthy of witnessing your company's latest and greatest accomplishment."

The man was old and had a very boring, bland voice. It was enough to put Claire to sleep, reminding her of all the times she had to attend lame high school assemblies. But, not only was she at an official top-secret presentation of a company that would've killed her had they known she was sitting in this very room, she was also on _a mission_. If she fell asleep, she would hate herself eternally.

As the man began talking, Claire straightened up in her seat, allowing the grip on her pen to strengthen. She already had her notepad open, so she prepared herself to write on the first blank line.

"For months, scientists in Umbrella's Paris facility have been researching on the G-Virus, created by William Birkin. That was until research on the T-Veronica was destroyed in Antarctica, along with Alexia Ashford, creator and self-experiment of the virus. The Ashford family has been a part of Umbrella since the very beginning; however, it seems that as time passed the family began to slip more and more into insanity. As most of you know, Alfred and Alexia conspired the death of their father. They also decided to hide the process of the T-Veronica. Alexia injected herself with the virus and pretended to have died. Alfred was the only one who knew otherwise. We are not certain why they did this, but it's very possible they wanted to overthrow Lord Spencer's ruling."

Claire was writing down almost everything the man was saying. From the corner of her eye she could see many others writing as well. Some were just jotting down notes, others were slowly writing, trying to perfect their statements. She stopped for a moment, trying not to look obvious. She briefly thought of Ada Wong, wondering how someone could be so composed and skilled when they _knew _they were doing something wrong.

"Tyrants of the T-002 variations are massively strong and capable of finding their prey easily. However, it's determined that they are drawn to creatures without the T-Virus in their system, as we originally wanted. Eventually, we wanted a Tyrant's target to be directly pinpointed, which is where the Nemesis T-Type came along. Nemesis could make its own decisions based on what we had ordered it to do. One of the many problems was that its specialized coat began to tatter and mutation went out of control. It lost control of its ability to think and went on a… rampage, so to speak.

"After Alexia released herself from her cryogenically frozen state, she was attacked numerous times and lost control of her mutation state. This is something that we, as a whole, cannot control. We can, however, control what a Tyrant does if we have the right subject: a subject that has ties to Umbrella, but has no personal vendettas of his own. Alexia went under so much stress in fear of her family's secrets being exposed and thus made it very easy for her to lose control of her thoughts. She was one of the first Tyrants that had the full capability to think on her own in a human state-of-mind.

"Surviving files on Rockfort Island allowed us to skip over some tests and research, and finally we have successfully created a Tyrant much stronger and intelligent than the T-102 and T-103. We've named her the TV-002."

At the sound of the creatures alluring name, the audience began to lean forward, their eyes wide and their knuckles clenched. Claire scoffed softly, knowing this had to be some kind of sick wet dream for them. Though, she was already leaning forward, too, and she felt beads of sweat run down her forehead.

The lights within the observation room brightened, and Claire could see a capsule erected in the center. She squinted and vaguely saw the creature inside. It looked purple, maybe blue, and was slender and feminine looking. She was about to stand up to get a better look, but the last pair of lights clicked on, and Claire finally got a good look at the T-Veronica subject known as the TV-002.

It turned out to be a leafy lime color, much lighter than Alexia. Its female shape made it similar to her, but the creature was bald and large-shouldered. Its breasts were without the stubs of nipples; instead, veins traveled down the left collarbone and down to the abdomen. A translucent piece of skin appeared above the heart, allowing a clear view of the organ, which beat wildly. Claire leaned forward a bit more, seeing the long nails were a good size, particularly the right index finger. It had to be at least a foot long, and its circular circumference four inches. The thought of being stabbed by the very claw made her swallow hard.

"Following many repairs and decontamination operations," the man continued, "Rockfort Island is now running smoothly again. We plan to continue T-Veronica research there, without the hassle of having to deal with the Ashford family, which is no longer in existence. Tomorrow morning the TV-002 will be shipped there. Any questions?"

A bundle of hands shot up, so quickly that it made Claire sick. It was like they were waiting to hear if they won the lottery.

"Who exactly was the chosen test subject for this trial?" a woman asked, when she was chosen to speak.

"A good question," the presenter stated. "Virginia Waters is her name." He walked over to a small overhead, which upon being activated illuminated the paper's content on the far end wall. "She worked for Umbrella for over 13 years." The overhead showed her human form, along with a list of projects. "She worked on the Nemesis Project as assistant to the head researcher. Her loyalty to the company is beyond impressive, and she brought forth the idea of having herself injected with the virus after this project was announced."

Claire's stomach churned. Why would someone ever _willingly_ have their humanity taken away? And, with the risk of dying, too! How crazy did someone have to be to work for Umbrella and to _literally _give their life for them?

Another hand was chosen, and the man asked: "What sort of tests will the TV-002 be going through in the future?"

"Rockfort Island will continue to run its small prison and military facility," the presenter informed the crowd. "But, we also plan to expand it by tearing down the meaningless structures the Ashfords built. We will be building a battleground, if you want to label it such, and the prisoners of the island will be used to see how the TV-002 reacts to those infected, those not, and most importantly, those who had a strong impact on Virginia's human life."

"What do you mean by that?" someone shouted out.

"Virginia Waters' family has been located, and sooner or later they will arrive on the island. By allowing the TV-002 to decide whether or not to kill her own kin will be excellent data. It will prove whether or not we have created a Tyrant with full human capabilities."

"So, can she talk?" another person shouted out.

"Unfortunately, we have yet to achieve that trait. Her voice box seems to have been damaged in the mutation, but x-rays prove it had nothing to do with the initial injection. Simply, as we all know, different genes call for a different reaction to the viruses entering one's body. The subject we used to create Nemesis fell under moderate, because although he could speak, it was very rough and hoarse with the hindering on only one vocabulary word. The TV-002 has been recorded to mumble occasionally, but no sentences have been spoken from her."

"Is she under sedation at the moment?" a woman inquired.

"Somewhat. Like Alexia, a cryogenic frozen state helps stabilize the virus. She's hooked-up to a computer system, which allows us to shut her down and wake her back up. Which, brings me to my next announcement in the improvements." The presenter's long arm extended towards the overhead. The content had changed, now showing a photograph of a small computer chip embedding into the side of the Tyrant's head.

"_Oh, God—_" Claire whispered, knowing exactly what it the chip was used for.

"This small device sends a static shock throughout the body, allowing it to shut down or wake right back up. There is also a level of shock that is considered painful. We hope not to use it, but—if like the previous subjects—she happens to lose control, we can take over from there. Plan B, some would call it."

_You bastards_, Claire's inner-voice screamed. _This Virginia girl willing went into the project, but you cheat her by installing some kind of manual system into her body? _Claire gritted her teeth. It just went to show how far Umbrella would go to make sure things went _their _way.

"Excuse me," Claire said, standing up. "Once the trials are over involving human combat data, what do you intend to do next with the subject?"

xxxxx

Steve practically choked on his own saliva. He straightened his position in his seat, jumping up and leaning forward.

_Claire, what are you doing?_

He was sure she was thinking the same thing, though. How could she draw attention to herself like that? It was impulse, obviously, but she knew better. He felt like running up to her and pushing her back into her seat. But, instead, he swallowed hard and remained silent.

"Ah!" the presenter gasped excitedly. "Perhaps that is the greatest question to be answered today." He smiled, but it was not warm or happy; it was cunning and dark.

Steve saw Claire sitting down again and let out a small sigh. Okay, so _that _was over, but now the fun part was coming forth: the answer to Claire's question.

"Each and everyone of us knows Umbrella Inc. is dedicated to numerous achievements with biological weapons. We will work on improving the TV-002, and eventually," he cocked his head a bit, continuing to smile, "we will begin a new type of trials that will consist of making identical Tyrants. As for what comes after _that,_ well, everyone likes surprises."

_You bastards, _Steve growled. _Like _you _even know what's going to happen after that_—_ you're as much a slave to Umbrella's owner as these workers around me. _

He looked ahead, seeing Claire's body stiffen. He narrowed his eyes, looking at the small notebook on his lap. There were a few helpful notes, ones that would please Wesker for a while. He didn't have enough energy or attention to write more, so he closed the pad. When Steve looked up, the presenter was walking off the stage, and a loud applause started. A voice recording played throughout the room:

"_All audience must remain seated until lights turn on. At such time, permission to come forth and observe the test subject will be admitted. Thank you for your time and dedication to Umbrella Inc."_

The lights brightened the room once more, and Steve sneered at the people standing up in a rush. They basically ran to the front of the room, pushing and shoving to get in line just as they did earlier to find a seat in the auditorium. When he saw Claire remain seated he forced himself to get up so he wouldn't draw her attention. After all, they seemed to be the only ones not excited to see the subject up-close. But, Steve couldn't deny the curiosity. He wanted to see it up-close, too.

He managed to stuff himself between the various people heading up-front, but left enough room around him to see Claire, still sitting and writing down something. He looked away, but from the corner of his eye he could see her moving.

_Oh, God, what if she stands right behind me? What if she _sees _me?_

But, Claire wasn't moving towards the crowd. In fact, she was heading out the door of the auditorium. Her work was done, it seemed. Steve pushed his way back out of the crowd, walking up the side aisles of the seats, casually following the Redfield. Where was she going now? Home? And, where exactly was her home? What if she lived in Toronto, so close to Steve?

Steve realized he wasn't breathing. He stopped walking, taking a deep breath and erasing all of his current thoughts. He had to think. First thing first, he had done his job: he collected information on the Tyrant and that was all Wesker wanted. He had some free time.

_When the hell did you start being so loyal to what _he _tells you?_

Well, he already did complete what Wesker had asked, so that question was rather useless.

Steve continued following Claire, spotting her turning a corner to another hallway just as he made his way out of the auditorium. So, she wasn't leaving. She was doing some exploring. Steve stopped once again and leaned against a wall.

"Okay," he said to himself quietly. "You've got two choices. Reveal yourself to her, or just go back in the auditorium, pretend you never saw her and wait for the show to be over so you can go home."

"May I help you?"

Steve jumped at the man in front of him. "What? No, no. I'm fine. I'm just a bit… nauseated. But, I'm okay."

"All right, then," he said, cocking his head and then returning to the auditorium.

Steve shook his head. He didn't see where that man came from. He had to get himself together. That easily could've been Claire, and how on earth would she react by just randomly seeing him leaning against a wall in the middle of the wide-open Umbrella hallway? But, she was busy investigating something. There were a load of people in the facility, but he supposed the presentation was a good distraction for an exploration. Nobody would question one walking about ever-so casually. The risk of being caught didn't even seem to affect her. Steve certainly worried about her, though.

"I'll follow her," he decided, "but I won't reveal myself to her. Just follow her and make sure she doesn't get caught." It was easy enough.

He headed towards the hallway he last saw her near, but it was obvious she had ventured into some of the offices. Further down, he saw a door open, and he peeked in only to see the shadow of the girl messing through drawers and fumbling through papers. He almost wished he knew what she was looking for, because he would assist in the search if he could. When her shadow started to come closer, he ducked into another room and suddenly, at that point, he felt ridiculous.

He wasn't Claire's stalker, nor was he some deluded spy. He _knew _Claire, possibly was in love with the girl. Sure, he was inexperienced in the love department, but obviously this was not the proper approach to earn affections.

Steve stepped out of the room, part of him hoping Claire was standing smack in the middle where she could see him. But, she wasn't in the hallway anymore. She was in yet another room. On the door it read _David Musser, Head of Facility. _

Whatever Claire was looking for _had _to be in there. But, what could it be? A file, a keycard, an item to Umbrella's retarded puzzles? Literally, she could be looking for anything, but she was moving so fast that he knew it had to be something in plain sight. Well, if he couldn't help her, maybe he could just stand outside, guarding the entryway, even if it was unbeknownst to Claire.

Now somewhat relaxed, he closed his eyes tightly and _breathed_. His nerves smoothed and allowed himself to feel the oh-so human presence of Claire, just a wall away. It was different than absorbing the feeling in a room full of people. It was different because he knew this girl, and he knew her _prior_ to being infected. Had she smelt this way back then? There was the evident smell of blood, but he didn't want to tear her apart. He wanted to hold her, get a good whiff of her humanity, like it was some expensive perfume that he loved.

He was always so cold, and he just knew she would feel so warm. Just like Sherry did when he sat next to her that day he broke the coffee table. He hadn't spent a large amount of time dwelling on it, but he remembered being so close to her humanity and how it thrilled him in ways he couldn't label. It was almost akin to… _an arousal_. He felt it now, and although not nearly as strong, it was just as effective on him. Maybe if he was closer to Claire—

"What are you doing?"

Steve's thoughts were broken, and the man—no, not just _any_ man, the man who was presenting in the auditorium—stood near him with the most suspicious expression printed on his wrinkled, old face. His eyes then moved towards the open office: the office with the light on, the office where sounds came from—quite obviously, _his office._

_Fucking… hell…_

The silence told the man everything.

"I'm calling security," he said in a haste, and he reached down for a device in his pocket, and—

—and Steve elbowed him directly in the face. The man fell to the floor with a howl, landing on his knees roughly. He cupped his bloody nose, but began reaching down to his pocket again, a second attempt to call for help. The russet-haired boy reacted once more, throwing himself on the man and grabbing the device. He smashed it against the man's chest, the impact so strong, a crack emitted from the man's bones.

"W-_Whaaa_—?"

Steve cut him off once and for all by grabbing the sides of his head and twisting it back. The _snap-_sound was loud enough to take him away from the trance of rage, and he looked down at the lifeless body. He gasped silently, realizing not only that he had just _killed _this man, but his previous thoughts of arousal were not, in fact, vague. There was an uncomfortable stir in his pants, and it was enough to make him fall backwards, off the man and onto the floor.

"Jesus Christ!"

But, the outburst did not come from him. He turned his head and saw Claire at the entryway of the office. Steve stood up in a rush, but just as he did, he witnessed the color drain in the Redfield's face.

"Steve!"

xxxxx

Something was not right.

It was only Wesker's gut feeling, but he knew his intuition was correct. Especially since Mr. Steve Burnside was alone in the building right across the street. _Alone_ for one of the first times where he was free to try something funny, free to slip up and free to just be the careless kid he truly was sometimes. It made perfect sense that he would pull something— in fact, Wesker _knew _he would—but it was a matter of when and what. And, Albert Wesker wasn't going to take any chances, even if that meant he had to stand around the Umbrella facility, playing watchdog in case Steve decided to stroll out of the building as if nothing was slightly wrong.

But, the thing was, Steve wasn't stupid. Maybe he lacked common sense, but _intellectually_, he was sharp. Even so, if he wanted to attempt an escape, he'd probably goof before Wesker had a chance to do something about the boy's behavior. Of course, Wesker was not one to be clouded by egotism, so he kept in mind a possible "what if?" factor. Meaning, he had a back-up plan: he had sent another Agency member to the presentation strictly to watch every move Steve made. The boy did not know that, but surely he might have suspected. Sadly enough, that wouldn't stop him from trying something; he was still in the invincible teenager mode.

"Sir?" said a voice, coming from the headset Wesker was wearing.

The noise in his ears caused him to look up beneath his sunglasses. People were passing by without a care in the world for an everyday-looking man loitering outside a coffee shop. If anything, he looked like a businessman waiting for an appointment.

"Yes?" he answered back.

"It appears Mr. Burnside is rather fixated on a woman here."

This brought a smirk to the blonde's lips. "Oh, really?" he said. "And, what does this young lady look like?"

"Well, it's hard to tell from where I'm at, but she seems unattractive: glasses, chubby… nerdy. She has braids, too."

That just about described at least half of the women employed by Umbrella. Why would Steve be infatuated with any of them? The possibility the virus had affected the boy in ways neither of them had previously suspected might have been the explanation. Being around so many humans could be stressful, and if Steve chose to attack one it certainly would bring unwanted attention.

"I see," he finally replied. "Well, if Steve pulls anything, just contact me. He's still a young boy and might just be desperate enough for any woman."

"All right. Over."

Wesker continued to lean against the building, scanning the front entrance of the Umbrella building for any activity. Nothing or no one. He could only grin at the thought of a virus-infected monster inside there, unbeknownst to every single person on the street. It couldn't be more than a couple of walls away, locked in some cage or tube, sedated and absent of humanity. Wesker was, after all, very curious as to what Umbrella had cooked up this time.

It would be their first big project since he left the company. Alexia's T-Veronica and the Nemesis were projects that had been ongoing while he was still there. _This_, however, was something he was completely clueless about. It might have been a Tyrant, a regular monster, or… a humanoid Tyrant. There was no way of knowing without spying.

Feeling sore, Wesker adjusted his weight to his left leg, but still felt a bit tired. He turned to enter the café behind him and took a seat at a table nearest the window. Steve would expect to see the car he was dropped off in when he exited the building and was ready to go home. Surely its absence would confuse him. This is what Wesker wanted. If Steve did not get a single bit of information while at the presentation than there was still a chance he gained something: the ability to detect a human and another Tyrant.

Exiting the building, Steve should automatically feel the lingering presence of another Tyrant. After being cooped up with so many humans it would be easier for the lad, but Wesker would just have to see.

"Sir, Steven just left the auditorium."

Wesker narrowed his eyes as he heard this. "Why?"

"I do not know for sure. I approached him casually to ask if he was all right, and he said he was feeling ill."

"Ill from _what_?" Wesker asked, but it was not directed to the man. "Where is he now?"

"Just standing there."

"Keep an eye out for what he does next," Wesker suggested.

"Oh, I will. Thing is, though, the woman he was fixated on left just before he did. I think he is trying to follow her."

"Hmm…" Wesker mused. "Don't let him know you're following him, but keep a close-eye."

"He's turning a corner, heading into a hallway where the girl went."

_Who the hell is this girl?_

The only explanation was that Steve saw her as prey. He was either going to kill her or possibly assault her in some way. Steve was a teenage boy, after all, and Wesker doubted he'd have any sexual interest in a woman who was described as "chubby" and "nerdy."

"I think…" The man trailed off, and it was obvious he was watching Steve. "The girl is in an office. He is lurking at the door—_oh, dammit_—!"

"_What_?" Wesker demanded.

"David Musser, the head of the facility, just walked down the hall. I think Steve is going to be caught doing whatever it is he's doing."

"Well, don't let him get dragged away by security—" Wesker stopped mid-sentence when he heard what could've been a gasp or a choke. "Is something there wrong?"

He did not receive an answer from the man, but he could hear various sounds in the background, and—

"Steve!" came a shout from the other end, far off. But, the muffled quality did not hide the identity of the speaker.

_Claire… fucking… Redfield._

The other end shut off, his spy having either released his finger from the call button or maybe he was caught, too.

_Dammit, _he cursed. _What the _fuck _is happening?_

Had Steve been caught? And, what the hell was Claire doing there? No… the latter wasn't up for questioning. _Of course _she was there. The Redfield twerps had to stick their noses everywhere, the stupid fuckers. However, Chris wasn't dumb enough to be wandering around there, too, although maybe he was in the city.

Finally, Wesker decided to speak. "What happened?"

No response.

"Tell me what I just heard," Wesker ordered sternly.

"Your Steve boy just had a temper tantrum, and David Musser was the victim."

"So, he killed him," Wesker clarified for himself. He wasn't even going to ask how. "And, little Miss Redfield witnessed it. What a beautiful reunion the two will have."

"Whatever is happening now… Well, I'm afraid your guess is as good as mine. They both went into the office," the man continued. "I'm back in the auditorium. I needed to get away before someone else came down."

"Just leave the facility," Wesker said. "The pair of lovebirds are either going to be caught or end up frolicking out of building together."

"And, _what if _Steve is caught? He could talk."

"Then, we'll deal it." Wesker turned off the headset and pinched the bridge of his nose with frustration.

So, Steve and Claire had reunited. He probably already had her pinned to the wall and was fucking her senselessly. Or, rather, _she_ was fucking _him_ senselessly. Steve was obviously a virgin and probably hadn't even managed to get a glimpse at a girl's bra strap in his entire eighteen years on this earth.

_Nerdy… chubby… unattractive._

That wasn't Claire Redfield, though. It was Claire Redfield in pathetic disguise.

"That goddamn Redfield…" he groaned.

Well, whatever happened had happened. What he needed to do now was watch for a crowd exiting the building. Wesker had no doubt at this point that Steve was going to leave with Claire. The blonde needed to contact headquarters and get Sherry out of the house.

Normally, when suspicion rose that Umbrella was aware of her location, there was no need to worry. She'd just stay at the house, where Umbrella would never find her. But, Steve knew where both the house and the facility were located. If Claire wanted to retain her position as Heroine of the West, then she'd get Steve to tell her were Sherry was being kept. Sherry needed to be watched so that _wouldn't _happen.

Wesker adjusted the headset channel and spoke into the device. "Get Sherry out of the house."

"W-What?" a startled, female voice answered.

"This is Albert Wesker. I need Sherry Birkin to be taken to the facility immediately."

"I'm arranging for it right now," a man then said. "Don't worry, we know the protocol. She'll be heavily supervised once we get here."

"Thank you," Wesker replied, much more trusting of the male's sturdy voice than the incompetent female's flaky utterance.

"No problem."

The line went silent.

That business taken care of, Wesker put away the headset for good and looked around the café calmly. Nobody was looking at him. All the occupants were hyped-up on caffeine and far too wrapped up in their personal conversations to care about what was going on around them. Wesker's only concern now was watching for Mr. and Mrs. Burnside to walk out of the building. They'd be too busy groping each other to notice what was coming next.

xxxxx

There Steve Burnside was, standing right in front of her, and the only thing that seemed to come out of her mouth was his very name. The nervousness that built inside her had prepared for getting caught, but not a single thing prepared her for Steve Burnside's presence. Not a single, damn thing.

She stared at him. No, this wasn't right. Was she seeing things? She quickly closed her eyes, reopening them to see the boy still standing there.

"Steve…?" she repeated, but this time, it was a question.

He was pale. He was lifeless. And, his bottom lip was curled beneath his top, making it look like he was scowling rudely. He didn't look like a teenager, but a man. She didn't even have to ask herself what was wrong, because she knew. He was infected. He was infected, and his latest kill was lying on the floor, two feet in front of her.

For a third time she whispered his name.

"Hi," he said.

The absurdity of his nonchalant greeting didn't even register with Claire. "I…" she started, but shook her head, rephrasing her words. "How?"

"I missed you," he told her and reached out to touch her.

"No!" she shouted, backing away quickly. Her back hit the frame of the doorway. She put a hand to her head and closed her eyes again. "Oh, God," she breathed. "What's happening?"

"Claire, calm down," he coaxed, reaching out again. This time, he was able to place a hand on her shoulder.

A shiver went down her spine. Steve's skin was cold and stiff. "You're—"

"—_infected_," he finished for her. "Yeah, Claire, I'm infected."

Hearing those words made her gasp quietly. There was a steadiness in both his voice and body, and she felt as if she might vomit. "Wesker did this to you?" she asked.

"He, um… saved me, I guess."

"You look so human, but you're infected."

"Yeah, like that Virginia woman up there."

"_You were there_?" Claire was startled.

"Yeah," he answered, "and I saw you there. Believe it or not, I was three seats behind you."

Claire didn't know what to say. It certainly explained why he wasn't particularly surprised to see _her._ Had he been surprised at all? Or, did Wesker tell him she was coming?

A realization hit her at that moment.

She gaped and shook her head with disbelief. "You're working for Wesker. What has he done to you?"

"I… I don't know." By now, Steve wanted to tell her absolutely everything that had happened since he woke up. He wanted to tell her his exact thoughts on what Wesker was planning and how he _did not _trust the man.

"You killed him." Claire looked at the man lying on the floor. "I saw you do it. You did it with such ease, but so quickly as if it didn't even matter."

"Dammit," Steve muttered. "Look, Claire, we got to get this body out of here."

"What?" she stared at him, dumbfounded.

Steve was already moving. He grabbed the body by the arms and dragged it into the office. Claire backed up against the hallway wall. Once he successfully had the body inside, he looked at Claire seriously.

"Get in," he said, gesturing inside the room. "We can't let people see us standing out there."

He was right. Claire walked into the room and closed the door behind her. It had been opened originally, and she was damn lucky, because there was a keyhole, which obviously meant 99 percent of the time the door was good and locked. And, so, here she was, inside a room with Steve Burnside and a dead body.

"I did it for you."

"What?" Claire repeated.

"I killed that man for you." He creased his brow. That seemed like the most logical analysis to Steve. At least for now. He didn't even want to begin to analyze what his arousal meant. Luckily, that had subsided at the shock and embarrassment of unintentionally reuniting with Claire.

"Why?" Claire asked. "Were you following me?"

"Yes, I was. I saw you leave the presentation and followed you. I knew you searching for something, and I had to protect you. He was coming back into his office. He would've caught you. You don't seem to have any kind of weaponry with you."

That much was true for Claire. She didn't even have a knife. She was well aware of that all when she decided to go off and start to search for the disc. "Oh fuck, the disc!" she exclaimed.

"The disc? You're looking for a disc?"

"It's a disc. With passcodes and everything we need to get into hundreds of Umbrella facilities."

"We?" Steve echoed. "Your brother. He did come and rescue you. How is he?"

Claire almost seemed insulted to be asked about her brother. "Whose side are you on, Steve?"

"Yours!" he shouted. "Of course yours! Do you think I've fallen into Wesker's ploy of working for him?"

"What does he want you to do? Why'd he send you here?"

"The presentation. He wanted information on that Tyrant thing. I had no choice but to go." Oh, boy, that was a lie. But, then again, maybe it wasn't. He wasn't entirely sure if he went on his own accord, or if he simply went in fear of what Wesker would do if he continued to refuse.

"Who does he work for?"

Steve hesitated.

"Steve!" Claire called out, almost whining. "Who does Wesker worked for?"

"The Agency," he recited, narrowing his eyes. "It's a company that appears to the public as a militia/combat organization. There's a facility not far—" Steve snapped his jaw shut. Claire was digging for all the information she could get. He was more than willing to comply, but what did she intend to do with _him_?

Claire let out a heavy sigh and removed the glasses she was wearing. She then became very self-conscious with her appearance. "You recognized me even in my ged-up. I guess I didn't do a very good job."

"I would recognize you anywhere, any day," he beamed.

Claire blushed and hated herself for it. The way Steve's voice softened made her smile a bit. She rubbed away some of the painted-on freckles. "You didn't disguise yourself."

"Wesker made me a fake I.D. and—" Steve stopped himself again. He was sounding too comfortable when talking about the man. He decided the best thing he could do was change the subject. "I have contacts in, by the way," he decided to say. "My eyes… they… changed. You can't see how truly despicable I am until my eyes are shown."

"Steve!" Claire shouted. "You're not a monster! It's Wesker who is despicable. I know you're a good person." She frowned when Steve narrowed his eyes again, as if he was trying to decide if Wesker was evil. "He did this against your will."

"I know. And… and I hate him for it, I do. But, I would rather be _this_ than dead." Steve furrowed his brow. Who had told him that? Sherry. And, Sherry knew Claire, she idolized her. But, before he could speak, Claire said:

"We need to get out of here," Claire stated, looking at the dead body near her right. "And, we need to do something about him."

Steve looked at a clock hung over a large bookcase. Wesker wouldn't be around to pick him up for at least another hour. "Let's go, then," he said, looking at Claire.

"Where?" she questioned.

"I don't know. But…" he trailed off, moving behind the man's desk. He started digging through the drawers. "Look in his pockets."

Claire's frown deepened, but she kneeled down and slowly reached into the man's pockets. Finding nothing in the right, she moved to the left and found a lighter. "A lighter. If we find something flammable, we could burn the body," she explained.

"We're in luck!" Steve smiled as well and held up a flask. "Looks like he was both a lush and a smoker."

Claire smiled back at the boy, thinking that although they just reunited, it already felt like old times.

_Old times meaning 48 hours on an island and blowing zombies to bits? _she asked herself. She bit her lower lip, but remained smiling.

Steve started sprinkling the alcohol on the man—on his face, chest, and legs—then gestured to Claire to drop the lighter. She flipped it opened and let it fall on the body. It burst into flames in less than a second. Steve walked around it and grabbed Claire's hand.

"Come on."

Claire's worried expression returned. "Where are we going?"

The russet-haired boy closed his eyes for a brief second. She was smart to ask such a simple question. "Where did you come from for here?"

"Ottawa. It's not thatfar from here."

"Then let's go there. Please, Claire, let me come with you," he begged, as if he feared more than anything Claire was about to kick him aside and abandoned him.

"What about Wesker?"

Steve shrugged his shoulders in frustration. "What _about _Wesker? Do you think I honestly want to stay with him? He may have saved my life, and in many ways I am grateful, but that doesn't mean I owe him my devotion."

"Then we got to hurry." This time Claire grabbed his hand, leading him out of the room. She let go when they approached the lobby. Before they were sighted, she pushed him back and whispered, "Walk out after me. If we walk out casually, they'll think nothing of it."

Steve nodded and watched Claire disappear around the corner.

"Have a good evening," a man said, obviously to Claire.

Steve heard the doors open and sighed in relief. Now it was his turn. He waited a few more minutes, then began walking out of the building. The man at the door just nodded his goodbye to Steve, and the boy returned it politely. When the door closed behind him, he spotted Claire across the street, waiting in front of a coffee shop. He sprinted up to her, giving a smile that revealed the easiness of the escape.

"I saw a park across from the bus stop. We can wait there until the next one comes," Claire offered.

"And, when's that? I can't just stick around this city for too long. Wesker… he's coming to pick me up. I think…"

"I think in about an hour," Claire answered, trying to think back to the bus schedule.

"Claire, you do realize you're putting yourself in greater danger by letting me come with you, right?" Steve suddenly asked.

"Of course, I do, but I'm willing to risk that to get you away from Wesker. It would've been the same way if you hadn't been injected with the T-Veronica in Antarctica: we would've left together and stayed together."

"But, back then, I didn't have to worry about Wesker."

"But, Chris did," she pointed out. "He was my brother's captain back when Chris was in S.T.A.R.S. Wesker was working for Umbrella, and that division of S.T.A.R.S. was just created so they could unknowingly cover-up Umbrella's mess. Wesker died. At least, Chris thought he did."

Steve didn't know any of that. He knew there was a connection between Chris and Wesker, but no details were ever revealed to him. "He's going to be so pissed off when he finds out I left," Steve stated.

"Yeah, but he doesn't know I went, right? He'll be looking in all the wrong directions to find you. You being with me would be the biggest twist."

"I do wonder if he knew you were coming," Steve admitted. "But, he wouldn't have sent me alone if he did. He would've predicted this."

"Well, I sure didn't." Claire's tone lightened the mood between them, and she gave a reassuring smile to go with the new aura. She began walking toward the park, and she heard Steve's footsteps behind her.

"I…" he paused, searching for the right words. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say to you, just to let you know."

"You think I know what to say to _you_?" Claire wondered. "This is still so unreal. I dreamt about this over and over again, but I didn't think we'd actually… reunite."

_Reunite, _Steve thought. It was such a romantic and hopeful word, but he didn't think it actually fit their running-into-each-other deal. Not even ten minutes ago had he just killed a human. Sure, he had killed at least a hundred zombies on Rockfort, but that man was a _human: _with a heart, a soul and conscious mind. Now he was just walking down the street with Claire Redfield.

"You must think I'm sick," he whispered.

There was a pause before Claire said anything. "If you hadn't killed him, we would've been caught." That had already been covered, but Claire felt it was right to say it again.

_But, that strength, _Steve continued in his head, _I have never felt that capability before. And, that thrill, a thrill so weirdly arousing and unique. I truly do have power._

Did that make him twisted and psychotic for thinking that? Or, did it only make him twisted and psychotic if he enjoyed it? Steve took a moment to absorb the sensuous aura of Claire's humanity, once again feeling a stir in his lower body. He could smell her, and _feel _her, and—

—and that utopia of awakening senses vanished when he Steve's knees bucked, and he fell forward.

"Steve!" Claire shouted, falling to her knees as well and trying to help him stand.

Steve tried to respond, but the strength in his legs died out, too, and he rolled to his side, groaning. His side was burning with pain. He could feel Claire's hand wrap around his arms as she dragged him into a nearby alley, away from the public.

"Steve, what is happening?" she asked. "Oh, God! Please, Steve, don't do this to me. _What's happening_?"

Steve closed his eyes tightly, trying to control the new pain right above his hip. He groaned, trying to form a few words as he looked up to Claire's concerned and worried face. His vision was starting to blur, only allowing him to see vague colors around him. Claire looked so bright and angelic, leaning over him as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

"_Steve_…?"

She was miles away now, or at least it sounded that way. He could no longer detect any dark colors, and his hearing only picked up one or two muffled words. The girl continued to ramble, but the faded sound of boots clanking against cement ceased her words.

"_Fuck—_!"

Her voice—who was she again?—was so soft all the sudden, so watered down. The wind gushing by was hindering the ability to decode her words. Or, wait, was that rain pelting against the ground? Was it even raining? And, _why_ was he on the ground again?

"How charming."

A male voice said that. Male, and so much more soothing than that of the female, because she was shrieking at this point.

"Be quiet," the male ordered and a painful sound of a punch emitted into the air.

The girl screamed. Again.

Steve clutched his stinging side. It was a buzzing shock that throbbed endlessly. But, there was no blood or even a wound. Just a shooting pain, and it continued to haze his vision and cause him to join in on the screaming.

"Please help him!" the female said.

Steve reached up and saw a blurry yellow figure. A red figure appeared just behind it, leaning forward in pain. His hand touched the yellow. It was cold and stiff, but his palm started radiating with a comfort that made his stinging side seem unimportant.

He wanted this comfort to last.

He pulled his body up, grasping the yellow figure by the shoulders and pushing his chest against it. It was _so nice._

_And, so familiar… to me…_

But, things weren't making sense. The red figure was grabbing at him, whining, shouting. He slapped at it, somehow sending the warm figure to slam itself into a wall.

_A wall. We're in an alley._

"You…" he muttered and cupped the yellow figure's face.

"_Steve_—" said the yellow.

"—fuck, no, Steve!" hollered Red.

_This… is… familiar. It's inside me, too._

He muttered a name and placed his lips onto Yellow's.

_Cold…_

But, Yellow and Red were not there anymore. Just black, the color.

**End of Chapter Six**


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven: **

**Love is Like a Punishment**

xxxxx

Sherry sat in the hospital waiting room, reading silently as busy men and women rushed by her every few minutes. Voices echoed throughout the brightly lit atmosphere while whispers emitted within the small area where she sat. A few people were waiting, too, but she knew none of them and couldn't really imagine _what _they were waiting for, considering they were all Agency employees.

The girl had been waiting a good two hours, and frankly, she was worried. It was about 2 a.m., and she had school in the morning. She guessed she wasn't going, which would make her tenth absent this marking period, not that she really cared. She had incredible grades, so her teachers weren't strict on her repetitive absences, especially considering The Agency was _paying _for her to attend. Of course, Sherry was still left clueless as to why she was even at The Agency's goddamn hospital in the first place.

She had been sleeping when the phone rang. Wesker was the one calling, and he promptly told her to pack a small overnight bag and wait for some men to pick her up. She would've been scared, but this sort of thing had happened before.

It was some kind of drill, which usually meant Umbrella must have gotten word on where she was located, or something. The whole thing baffled her. She thought staying in Wesker's house meant Umbrella's search for her was supposed to be more complicated. Though, in truth, all the times she was sent out of the house in the middle of the night had, in fact, been drills. But, this time she'd been waiting far too long, and she had a sinking feeling that something was wrong this time.

And, that was exactly why she was blocking out her thoughts by reading _The Scarlet Letter. _It was a class assignment, and she was chapters ahead of where the rest of the class was, but she thought the book was pure crap. Hester Prynne was a whore, and that had been firmly established within the first few pages of the book; it didn't need to drag on for another hundred just so Sherry could develop more hatred for the stupid protagonist than she initially had at the beginning.

"Good, you're here."

Sherry looked up, seeing Wesker standing in front of the nearest entrance. He looked disheveled for the first time and was missing his normal sunglasses and suit jacket. She automatically noticed a red stain on his blue sleeve. Now she was officially worried. She closed the book and walked over to him.

"I've been waiting for two hours. I wasn't sure what to think this time." She gave him an almost disrespectful look, but Wesker's continual pathetic appearance made her expression soften. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said coldly. "There are two things you need to know," he then continued. "One, Claire's here in the facility."

Sherry's eyes widened. She couldn't have possibly heard that correctly. Yet, the serious look printed on Wesker's face stated otherwise.

_Claire? Here?_

That made no sense, but Sherry tried to piece together all the little things that happened within the last 24 hours. Steve wasn't around all day, Wesker was in and out of the house, and prior to that, the two were having arguments about sending Steve on some kind of trip. That trip obviously brought Claire Redfield into the picture.

Knowing she had to say something, she decided on asking, "What's the second thing you need to tell me?"

"I'm going to murder Steven," he announced, not seeming bothered by the fact Sherry had dismissed the news on Claire.

"How's that going to solve anything?" she wondered.

"It will fucking make me feel better," he grunted. He walked by the girl and picked up her bag that was still sitting on one of the waiting room chairs. He grabbed the book resting there, too and began walking towards an elevator.

Sherry figured she was supposed to follow, but before doing so, she took a moment to build up the courage to ask if she could see Claire. But, Sherry knew the answer to that. Besides, did Claire even know Sherry was here, too? Instead of outright asking, Sherry decided to just conclude, "I guess I'm not allowed to see Claire."

Wesker called for the elevator and turned around to face Sherry. "That would be correct."

"Well, what are you going to do with her?"

"I haven't decided."

"Can you at least explain to me what's happening? Or, _what _happened?" Sherry watched as Wesker stepped into the elevator once the doors slid open.

"Steve bumped into Claire while doing a job for me. He thought the two of them could magically run away together and live all hunky-dory without any consequences whatsoever."

Sherry examined Wesker's expression once more. He was scowling deeply and without his sunglasses there was no hiding the creased brow. "Are you… are you going to murder _me_?"

"How's that going to solve anything?" Wesker said, repeating her earlier question.

Sherry thought about repeating his earlier response, but feared it might give him an idea. The elevator doors flung open before any uncomfortable silence could arise, and Sherry rubbed her forehead in exhaustion.

"I applaud you for not having a tantrum by now," Wesker commented as they walked down the new hallway.

In some ways, Sherry should have been insulted by that comment. Had she _ever_, really, thrown a tantrum in front of Wesker in the first place? Sure, she had gotten emotional, especially the first couple of weeks she was living with him, but she had so been hell bent on emulating Claire that she managed to compose herself most of the time. If anyone was holding back having a tantrum right now, it was probably Wesker. She wouldn't have minded seeing it, so long as she didn't get in the way of his rage. Smiling slightly at that unintentionally humorous thought, she distracted herself by taking in her new surroundings.

It looked like the hall of a fancy hotel: cranberry colored walls, brown carpeting, bright lights hanging on the wall between every door. She had never been in these levels of the facility, but she knew they were where some of the worker's lived. And, tonight she was sleeping over, it seemed.

Wesker stopped in front of a room labeled _203_ and unlocked it with a cardkey. He walked in, placing Sherry's belongings by the door. Sherry stepped inside the room, too, seeing that even the inside appeared to have some homey hotel atmosphere.

"Make yourself at home," Wesker said.

Sherry noticed all the lights were already on, which seemed awkward. She turned to ask Wesker about it, but saw him heading for the door, leaving.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To see little Miss Redfield."

The door closed, and Sherry continued to stand in the middle of the room.

"_Uggh—"_

Sherry jumped at the moan. The sound was followed by a cough, then another painful moan. It was coming from one of the bedrooms, but even the dull groan had familiarity in it. Steve was here.

_Would've been nice if Wesker told me, _she thought, walking towards the bedroom. She opened the door, finding Steve lying on the bed, curled up in a ball, obviously in a large amount of pain.

"Steve," she greeted.

The boy turned his body to face the voice. He seemed surprised to see Sherry, but also content. "Thank God you're not that fucking bastard," he groaned.

"By that, I guess you mean Wesker," she concluded. "Are you okay?"

"Not really. I just found out Wesker is fucking tracking my every move by this stupid device he implanted in my body."

"Oh."

Steve huffed a sigh, rolling onto his back to stare at the white ceiling. "I can't believe how stupid I am."

_Neither can I, _her mind droned, but she stayed silent. Even _she_ had suspected Wesker was tracking her every moves. Wesker just seemed like the type of guy to do that, not caring whether or not the involved person knew.

"He's tricky," she shrugged.

"Yeah, but this was pretty obvious." He scrunched up his face in pain once more. "Whatever he implanted inside me… it started to go off, and it stung my entire body. I couldn't even move. It felt like I was being pricked by a million needles all at the same time." He clutched his upper-hip.

"Let me see," she offered. She reached out, lifting his shirt to see where he had his hand. When he moved his arm, she saw a bright red spot, almost appearing as a burn. "Ouch."

"When I originally woke-up—you know, after _dying_—that area of my body was stitched. I asked him about it, and he gave some weird explanation. Even then, I thought it was a weird answer, but I never really thought about it afterwards."

"Maybe you can take a butter knife and dig it out."

Steve turned his head towards her, raising an eyebrow. "You're such a kid," he spewed.

"I was kidding, Steve."

Steve decided to change the subject. "So, you know that I ran into Claire, huh?"

"Yeah, Wesker told me."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Have you seen her?"

"No. I don't even know if I will. Wesker is angry, but he'll settle down and start playing what appears to be his innocent act."

"And, what then?" Steve wondered.

"Well, he might let us see her. He's not going to kill her," she insisted. "Why would he? He doesn't hate Claire as much as he hates her brother, so he'll use Claire as a way to lure Chris out of hiding."

"_Then_?"

"And, then…" she paused, mulling over the possibilities. "And, then, stuff will happen."

"Sounds exciting!" Steve exclaimed.

"I don't know what to say to make your pity party end," she admitted, "but be reasonable here, okay?"

"_Why should I_?" Steve shouted, suddenly becoming sincerely angry. "I fell right into his trap! Right into it! I honestly thought Claire and I had a chance of escaping, and it went straight down the toilet. How stupid could I possibly be? And, how stupid could Claire be for going along with it? I fucking hate my life right now!"

Sherry rolled her eyes. "There's no use blaming yourself, or Claire. You were blinded by, like, love, or something."

"Jesus Christ, do you know how stupid that sounds?"

"Yeah, I do. That was the point."

Silence crept across them, and Sherry couldn't help but keep her eyes locked on Steve's sad expression. He was overreacting, but his negativity was reasonable, she supposed. Personally, Sherry was the one who should have been acting like a child. Claire and Steve were on their way to escaping this nightmare, and yet neither of them seemed to care about what happened to her. Did she even cross their minds?

"Maybe it's better that you two were caught," she said. "I mean, Wesker would've been so upset and taken his anger out on me. I'd probably be dead."

Steve brightened up with some sort of realization. "Oh, yeah. I never mentioned you, so she has no way of knowing you're around here, unless Wesker said anything."

"Thanks a lot," she expressed sarcastically. "I'm so glad you care about me."

"I, um—_well_, it's not like I don't. I mean, I do, but I'm not like your best friend or anything. I was just distracted."

"My dad used to say that," she revealed. "Tell me, is that supposed to make me feel better?"

This time, Steve rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"No, not rea—"

The phone rang in the living room, cutting Sherry's words short. For a moment, both of them were still, half-wondering if they were hearing things, half-wondering if they should start panicking.

Knowing Steve wasn't in the best of shape to get up and answer, Sherry walked out of the room and picked up the phone.

Hearing nothing on the other end, she spoke first: "Um, hello?"

"Sherry, someone will be up to get you in a few minutes."

It was Wesker, but Sherry was more boggled by his statement. "Why?" she asked.

"Knowing how stubborn a Redfield can be, I know your presence will calm Claire. I want you to come see her."

Sherry furrowed her brow. "I thought that was a no-no."

She received no response. Wesker had hung-up already.

Confused, Sherry looked towards the room where Steve rested, wondering if she should say anything to him. Wesker wouldn't care, but Sherry knew the boy would start freaking out and insist he come, too.

It was best for him not to know.

xxxxx

Claire extended her arm, trying to touch the aching part of her head. She was dizzy. But, also, very tired. The last thing she remembered was Steve lying there, grasping his side as he hollered in pain. She couldn't do a thing about it either. He was just screaming, pleading for her to "remove it." When he finally stopped shouting, she could hear a buzz-sound, and she knew it had to be some kind of chip implanted inside his body.

_Wesker!_

That name jolted something within her body. She sat up in a rush, looking at her surroundings. She was in a laboratory, or maybe a hospital.

_Oh, no… Please don't let him have done anything to me._

Shit, what about Steve? He was so out of it by the time Wesker showed up. In fact, he was _so out of it_, that he hit her. That's why her head hurt. Steve had rejected her comfort in exchange for Wesker's. He practically melted in the blonde's arms, and then—

—_and then kissed him!_

Why would he have done that? Surely Steve must have thought Wesker was Claire.

That automatic need to excuse Steve for kissing someone else surprised her. Maybe it was just the fact it was Wesker, who actually seemed relatively uninterested in his liplock. He didn't seem surprised, either. He seemed completely deadpanned, as if it didn't matter. But, _why_? Steve had been groaning about various subjects, and the only thing she could make out of his talk during the kiss was "same," or something along those lines.

Claire blinked once more, her vision finally clearing completely. She was indeed in a hospital, not a lab. Her first instinct told her to get out of the bed, but her legs wouldn't move. She reached underneath the light green blanket, searching for the restriction. Feeling down her knees, she finally stopped when her fingers came in contact with something rough and bumpy.

She was strapped onto the bed.

Wesker had caught her.

"Fuck," she cursed, sitting all the way up and trying to wiggle out of the straps. "I am _not _going to let that bastard keep me here."

Her attempt was to no avail. Her head was protesting the continual sitting up, and her entire body was pleading for more rest. She stopped, looking around the room for something to cut the straps, but the room contained nothing. She was still wearing her "costume," although her glasses and shoes were missing.

Oh, my God…

Claire shuttered the instant she saw the clock on the wall. It was 3:30 in the morning. Hours had passed since she left the Umbrella compound and had Wesker not caught her, she would've been just a few hours away from home. Chris, Leon, Jill… they were no doubt freaking out at that very moment. She had not called them and that would automatically lead to the assumption she had been caught by Umbrella. They might have even thought she was dead. Chris would have a breakdown; Leon would hold it all in; and Jill would cry.

The thought re-energized Claire, and she continued squirming within the holds. They felt like leather, perhaps made of something even stronger. Her ankles started burning from the constant contact. She winced, falling backwards in defeat. Staring dully at the ceiling, she began to wonder if anyone was going to come into the room. Maybe Steve would.

She doubted Wesker had done anything critical to him. Steve was obviously some deluded use, so the man wouldn't have harmed him… _that_ much.

Claire shut her eyes, trying to get rid of her headache. It felt like her head was splitting in half, and the ticking of the clock only frustrated her more.

At the sound of voices on the other side of the door, Claire froze. That was Wesker's voice, but a female was with him. She concentrated on the talking, trying to overhear the conversation. Suddenly, the girl's voice became familiar. It sounded vaguely like—

—_Sherry…?_

She fidgeted in the holds, foolishly attempting to escape.

"Sherry!" she hollered, without thinking.

She threw herself onto the floor. Her feet stayed locked to the straps, making her body dangle from the bed. She slid herself toward the door, moving only an inch or two before the straps prevented her from going any further.

A beep emitted and the door flew open. The first thing she saw was two pairs of feet—boots and then scuffed-up dress shoes—but when she looked up, she saw the faces of Albert Wesker and Sherry Birkin.

"Oh, how attractive," Wesker muttered. He walked over to her, grabbing her by the underarms and lifting her up quickly and easily.

"Don't touch me!" Claire protested. She writhed in the man's hold, managing only to make Wesker step backwards as he lightly lost his balance.

This refusal of help caused the blonde man to drop her roughly on the bed. Claire grunted and looked over to Sherry, who still stood in the doorway.

"Sherry," she repeated.

"Hi, Claire." Sherry stepped into the room and eyed Wesker, who was now tightening the straps on Claire's legs.

"W-What… what are you doing with _him_?" she asked, gesturing towards Wesker.

"I uh…" She paused, unsure. "I don't know."

"I take care of her," Wesker replied, sounding bitter.

Claire dropped her mouth in disgust. "Shut the hell up, you sicko!" She gritted her teeth, seething with anger at the man's response. "What the _hell _have you been doing to her?"

"Providing settler, food, schooling…"

"Oh, do _not _give me that," she hissed. She looked at Sherry, who was staring at her feet. "Please tell me you're okay."

"I am," Sherry assured. "Just out-of-my-mind surprised you're here." She gave a soft smile when she looked up to Claire.

Claire finally saw how much Miss Birkin had grown. The girl now had a unique bone structure in her cheeks, which automatically made her look like a young adult. She looked so pretty. There was an obvious mix of Annette and William in her features. Her golden blonde hair sat just beneath her shoulders, longer than it had been when Claire met her in Raccoon City. If Claire had been standing up, she was sure she would've been shocked by the girl's height, too.

"You bastard," Claire then spat at Wesker. "All this time _you _had her? You have been keeping her from people she cares about and possible family?"

"Sherry has no relatives," Wesker quickly informed. He stood right next to the girl, seeming bemused. "How do you feel, Claire?" he asked, mockingly.

"Don't change the subject," she ordered. "You honestly think that you have the power to control us all, don't you?"

"Steve is fine, by the way," Wesker shrugged, "but you weren't very concerned about that, were you?"

"Where is he?" Claire asked, suddenly looking startled.

"He is fine. That's all you need to know." The blonde grinned, knowingly. "Actually, he's better than fine. You see, that little incident of him falling down and wailing—well, it was a wake-up call."

Sherry narrowed her eyes and turned to face the door.

"When we revived little Steven, we implanted a chip into his hip area. If he ever disobeyed, we could control him. It seems Umbrella has stolen my idea with the TV-002."

"You're no better than them!" she shouted. Wesker had somehow managed to gain information on the TV-002, possibly from her own notes or maybe Steve's, if he bothered to write any.

"Darling, I never said I was," Wesker replied.

"Sherry, it's going to be all right," Claire coaxed. "I'm going to get us out of here somehow."

Sherry looked at Claire sadly. The Redfield knew she must have looked so pathetic: strapped down to a bed with ugly clothes and looking as if she hadn't slept in a year. But, Sherry did not seem thrilled to see her. What had Wesker said or done to break Sherry's spirit?

"I know you're worried about Steve," Sherry began, "but I saw him just a moment ago, and he truly is okay."

Claire's eyes widened. Steve and Sherry knew each other. Why didn't Steve mention her, then? Surely Claire had spoken of her during their adventures on Rockfort.

"But, are _you _okay, Sherry?" Claire wondered.

Sherry nodded, finally looking happier. "Yes. I am very much okay. Nothing has happened and no one has done anything to harm me. I'm worried about _you_."

"All this worry is getting us nowhere," Wesker interrupted. "Claire, do you not remember that your _need_ to find Chris ended up making you abandon Sherry?"

Claire looked at Sherry with worry. "Sherry, you know that I didn't mean anything like that when I left. Leon was going to take care of you!"

"I know," Sherry said. "I mean, I was afraid for the longest time that you didn't care about me, but I know now, after thinking about it for so long, that you do."

"Of course I do. Don't ever believe otherwise from now on."

Sherry nodded, then reluctantly looked up to Wesker. "Please don't hurt her any way," she pleaded.

"Sherry," he began, "you are a sharp and talented girl, but Claire is just trying to get information out of you. Tell me, do you think that if she had to choose between destroying Umbrella and saving you, that she'd choose _you_?"

Sherry continued to look at him.

"She sure didn't choose you when it was between Chris and you. And, I'm fairly certain _you _were in more need of her attention."

"Sherry…" Claire sighed, shaking her head. "I know you are aware of who is more trustworthy. Believing anything Wesker says is like—"

"_Stop it_," Sherry interjected sternly. "I don't want to hear any of this 'whose side should I choose?' nonsense. There are much more important things going on here than your stupid personal problems." Sherry looked back and forth at Claire and Wesker, her statement directed at both of them.

"Such wise words from someone so young," Wesker commented. He put a hand on Sherry's shoulder, pushing her lightly towards the door. "It's time to go now. Steve needs us."

"You fucker, don't touch her!" Claire cried, rising up from the bed.

"Claire…" Sherry voiced, turning before she exited the door. "Just try to stay calm."

With that said, Wesker and Sherry left the room, leaving the Redfield alone with the plain walls and ticking clock.

xxxxx

When Claire opened her eyes, she instantly knew she was somewhere other than the hospital. At first, she thought the whole ordeal had been a dream, and maybe she was in her own bedroom, with Jill, Leon and Chris just down the hall. But, Claire had never been a visual dreamer, and certainly, what went down with Steve, Wesker and even Sherry, was too detailed to be anything except the cold, dark reality.

The décor in the room she currently occupied was elegant. Everything was brightly colored, including the pink and brown walls and smooth, fancy bed sheets.

She was instantly suspicious.

When she sat up, she noticed a different feeling in her clothing. Looking down, she realized her attire had been changed. She was dressed in plain jeans and a baggy red t-shirt. An uncomfortable feeling ran through her, making her more suspicious than before. The Redfield subsequently lifted her shirt all the way up, only to find she had a new bra as well. This disturbed her further. _Who _had changed her clothes and when? She didn't even remember falling asleep after seeing Sherry. She just drifted off, and now she was here.

Distantly, she could feel her head still pounding in pain, but she ignored it. She had to escape this room. It did not make her feel better, if that's what Wesker was aiming at. It made her feel worse, because it was foreign and suspicious and just downright creepy.

Rising from the bed, Claire whispered, "Please be unlocked." She reached out for the doorknob on the only door in the room.

Before turning the knob, she listened carefully, prepared for anything or anyone to be on the other side. Hearing nothing, she opened the door, immediately scanning the new room.

She found that the connecting room was a living room, but the much more shocking part was that Sherry was reclined on the green sofa, looking startled by Claire's presence.

"I had no idea you were awake," she choked out, rising from the couch.

Claire's worried nausea flattened at Sherry's tone, and she felt more relaxed, even though Sherry sounded a bit rude. Wesker was nowhere to be found, which was a positive note, but that still didn't answer her question about where the fuck she was and what had happened in the last few hours.

"Sherry, where am I?" she asked, slightly snippy.

"Still in The Agency facility," the girl informed. "We're on the upper-levels, where some of the workers live. Wesker is… temporarily keeping us here."

Claire lowered her eyes. Part of her wished that she was still in the hospital room, where she wouldn't have to deal with Sherry's obvious disrespect for her.

"You look different with your hair down," Sherry noted, smiling only a little.

Claire felt the back of her head, finding no ponytail. "I… I had it down yesterday. You should've seen me in braids."

Both girls fell into silence, smiling back at one another to acknowledge the short stint of peace.

"Come sit," Sherry offered, gesturing to the sofa as she took a seat again.

"Sherry, we have to get out of here," Claire proclaimed. She looked towards the door.

"It's no use," the girl stated without emotion. "Wesker has them electronically locked, so we can't get in or out unless someone disables the system."

"And, where can we do that?"

Sherry gave a quick shrug. "Who knows."

"Dammit," Claire cursed, lowly. She spotted a large, sliding glass door and dashed over to it. "We'll break this!"

"And, in the process, trigger an alarm while we attempt to jump a billion feet to the ground?"

Claire stayed quiet, realizing how thoughtless and foolish she was acting. But, at the same time, she recognized Sherry's growth, not only physically, but in every other way possible. She was not the naïve and impulsive girl, who would sooner try every escape before thinking over reason. Of course, Sherry was not as impulsive as Steve had been—she had a lot of determination versus Steve's need to impress—but, she had been a bit reckless, too.

"You two are so much alike," Claire mused. "You and Steve, I mean. It's insane."

"Insanely wrong!" Sherry barked. "Steve is older than me and acts like a child."

Claire pursed her lips as she smiled. If she didn't know better, she would have assumed Sherry had quite the crush on Steve. But, when the Redfield rationalized, she knew Sherry just did not want to admit she didn't all-out hate Mr. Burnside.

"He is here, too, by the way," Sherry revealed, pointing towards the door next to the room Claire had previously occupied. "He's been asleep all morning, so I don't think you should wake him."

Claire turned towards the door then looked back to Sherry, who was still sitting on the couch. For the first time since she came out of her room, she noticed the television and what channel Sherry was watching. It was a music video station, but she did not recognize the song.

"I can at least see him, right?"

Sherry furrowed her brow. "I'm not his nurse."

Claire paused, contemplating whether or not she should actually go inside. She wanted to ask him how he was feeling, but also, if he was _going to be _okay.

Sherry had her eyes on Claire, which made the Redfield a bit uncomfortable. This provoked her to finally go over and open the door.

Inside, Steve was still indeed sleeping, looking rather peaceful under the sheets. She stepped fully into the room, kneeling down in front of the bed. At that moment, she very much wanted to wake him, but stopped herself from the urge to shake him gently.

Instead, she ran her fingers through his hair, staring deeply at his face. His lips were parted, causing his breathing to be heard if she didn't move too much.

"Steve," she whispered, ignoring the fact he really _shouldn't _be awakened. "It's me, Claire."

Steve continued to sleep, not even moving at the soft voice of Claire. Perhaps Claire was speaking _too_ lowly.

"He wasn't too active last night," Sherry voiced from the doorway. "Maybe he feels better today."

Claire turned at Sherry's words and allowed her eyes to follow the girl as she made her way towards the bed. She threw the blankets off Steve's body, lifting his shirt to reveal the bruise.

"Oh, God!" Claire gasped. "How could something so small create that much damage _outside _the body?"

"It must have been really strong," Sherry concluded. "It was enough to knock him out."

"Then why not implant it in his head…?"

Sherry readjusted Steve's clothing, and Claire took notice of his new attire: a long-sleeved black shirt and loose, pajama-like pants.

After Sherry was done, she kneeled down next to Claire and rested her arms and head on the bed. "I guess Wesker didn't want to ruin Steve's pretty, little head."

Claire blinked, thrown off by the answer. Was that a confession of Sherry's affections for Steve… or Wesker's? The thought brought her back to the kiss between both men, and she found herself more convinced that Wesker was trying to pull something, especially since Sherry's bland tone made the conclusion sound more serious than meaningless.

"Sherry," Claire began, looking at her knees, "do you like it here?"

Sherry half snorted, half scoffed. "Well, just to let you know, this isn't where Wesker keeps us. He has a house. I have a room. It's nice there, but I'd rather be a hundred other places."

Claire ran her hands through her hair, a nervous habit. "He—_Wesker_, I mean—hasn't hurt you, right? You can tell me."

"Not in the way you probably think. Wesker's not like that. And, no, he doesn't hit me or anything. To be honest, I don't think he's ever touched me. When I was originally brought here, it was other men who… kidnapped me." Sherry lifted her head when Steve rolled over. She stared at Steve for a moment and then said, "Oh, but, Wesker hits Steve."

"Not surprising," Claire droned.

The Redfield was slightly unpleased with the fact that although she was hell bent on knowing if Sherry had been harmed, she wasn't bothered by the fact Steve was the one who endured the abuse. Maybe it was because Steve was older and more capable of fighting back.

"Steve is pretty into you," the blonde stated. "Do you feel the same way?"

"I don't know," Claire instantly replied. "I am pretty sure Steve doesn't know how he really feels about me." Claire looked at Steve as she said this, taking in the peaceful expression on his face once more. His eyes were closed, but jittering every now and then, most likely a result of his dreams.

_Steve had contacts in when he saw you, _Claire reminded herself. _What will his eyes look like when he wakes up this time?_

"He loves you," Sherry assured. "It's so obvious."

"I'm afraid you might be a bit too young to understand how this works," Claire objected, calmly. "I don't believe in love at first sight, so I don't think Steve could've fallen in love with me as quickly as he claimed."

"Why are we having this conversation here? I bet'cha ten bucks he's already awake and listening on our every word."

Claire chuckled at Sherry's suspicion. "You're right. Come on," she said, standing up and offering a hand to Sherry.

The young girl took the Redfield's hand, standing up and then walking out the room with her. Sherry shut the door to Steve's room, only to hear another door open.

Both girls turned around to see Wesker entering the room. Claire gaped at the sight of the man dressed in casual clothing. He wore a pair of tan, pressed pants and a black, button-up shirt with long sleeves. Again, he did not wear his sunglasses, which made him look normal, despite the orange cat eyes.

"Glad to see everyone is playing nice," he greeted. "How's Steven?"

The blonde man's look was not enough to distract Claire from her resurfaced anger. The Redfield—as impulsive had she had chided Sherry and Steve for—ran to the man, throwing herself on him in an attempt to hurt him.

Wesker did manage to stumble backwards, but he quickly and easily picked the Redfield off him, throwing her to the ground carelessly. She slid along the carpet, a rough burn skating down her arms before she was stopped by the back of the couch.

Sherry walked over to Claire, looking at the woman with what could've been disappointment. Claire groaned as she sat up, rubbing her head before she let Sherry help her stand.

"Come on, Claire, haven't you learned by now?" she asked. "Besides, I doubt he'd hurt you so much if you didn't try attacking first."

Claire huffed. "Don't think you can keep me here forever like a deluded princess in a tower," Claire spat, ignoring Sherry as she advanced towards Wesker.

"I don't think of you as a princess, Claire, but I do think you should listen to Sherry. She's quite the intelligent thing."

Claire gritted her teeth. "Stop acting like you care!"

The blonde girl sighed at the sound of this argument starting up once again.

"If Sherry wants to stay angry with anyone, she has good reason. And, you, Miss Redfield, have certainly done enough to earn her hate."

"I don't hate anyone!" the girl interjected. "Maybe Umbrella and their stupid employees, but I'm way over the abandonment thing. And, Claire, I'm sorry, but much to your disappointment, I don't hate Wesker either."

"Sherry…" Claire breathed. "He's evil."

"He was my dad's friend," Sherry said firmly. "What, are you going to say my father was evil, too?"

After the girl said this, she narrowed her eyes, knowing full well Claire would indeed say such a thing. William Birkin very well might have been evil, but he was still Sherry's father and she loved him, even if he was a non-attentive, work-absorbed psychopath.

Sherry just sighed, walking away from the two, who still stood facing each other, and entered Steve's room.

"Very good job upsetting her," Wesker said, folding his arms and giving Claire a mock-disappointed look.

"God, shut up! If for some crazy reason you actually do care for Sherry, it's not because you want to keep her safe, it's because you can control her! Just like Steve!"

"Oh, don't be mistaken; I don't care for Steven."

"You sure make it seem like you do," she argued. "Otherwise, what was up with that kiss?"

Wesker cocked his head and leaned against the door. "Is there a problem with what you saw?"

Claire could tell he was feeding her the bait, _trying _to make her get upset so she would assume the kiss actually meant something. She was not going to bite.

"It was unreasonable and suspicious," she said.

"When you think about it, no. Steve and I are both infected. When he was in that much amount of pain, he clung to what felt familiar. The virus allows us to feel each other's presence no matter how hazy or sick we might be. When he felt the familiarity of the virus, he felt good."

Claire gave a deeply embarrassed look, revealing that her thoughts of it meaning more were absurd. Wesker caught this look and grinned faintly.

"What?" she demanded, realizing he was looking at her.

"Were you really threatened by the scene?" Wesker wondered. "Oh, Claire, I'm not sure what to say. No, I'm not seducing Steve, if that's what you think. Although, sometimes I think I should, just to prove a point."

Claire furrowed her brow, a mix of disgust and surprise. "What point is that?"

"Never you mind, dear. I simply came up here to make sure you three didn't kill each other." Fishing in his pocket, Wesker revealed a small device in the palm of his head. He pressed the single-button item and Claire heard a _click­_-sound near the door.

"You are sick," Claire fumed.

Wesker said nothing as he exited, but Claire was briefly able to spot a security guard across the hall. They locked eyes for only a second, but were cut off when the door shut. Even in those few seconds, Claire could see how emotionless the man looked.

"Don't let Wesker get to you. You're above that."

"Steve!" Claire yelled, rushing over to the boy standing in his doorway. She threw her arms around him, pressing her body roughly against his, in a passionate hug.

"Ugh," Steve moaned as Claire's thigh pressed against his wound.

Claire jumped, backing away from him right away. "I'm sorry!" she said. "I just—"

The Redfield stopped mid-sentence as she looked into Steve's eyes. They were bright orange, even brighter than Wesker's.

Steve realized why Claire was looking at him funny. He turned away from her sight, slightly ashamed, but also humiliated.

"Steve," Claire spoke up, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I just didn't expect to see your eyes like that."

"You don't have to tell me. I know they are disgusting."

"Oh, Steve," Claire chided, putting an arm around his shoulder and holding up some of his weight, before leading him to the couch.

Steve smiled distantly when she helped him sit. He stretched out, putting his legs on the coffee table. "God, I feel weak."

Sherry appeared in the living room, seeming oblivious to the two lovebirds sitting there. She grabbed the television remote and clicked off the TV.

"Did you just wake up?" Claire asked.

"Yeah. Sherry told me right away that you were here. I was so happy when I heard that." Steve smiled again.

"Looks like we were both given new clothes," Claire noted, picking at one of Steve's sleeves.

Steve's realization of his own clothes made him notice Claire's. "Wesker sure likes to take care of clothing needs, it seems."

Claire caught the bitter tone, but wasn't sure why Steve would be that bothered by the clothing.

"He did the same for me," Steve said. "When he brought me to his house, he had a room, furniture, clothing… all for me. It was creepy and I know it's his way of buttering me up."

"Obviously, it didn't work," Sherry voiced, sitting on the coffee table.

Steve and Claire turned to her, both seeming a bit frustrated by her presence. Claire smiled the best she could, while Steve rolled his eyes.

"Think you can cook us up something?" he asked, not even attempting to hide his frustration. "I'm famished."

"I could really go for something, too." Claire's statement was less demanding, but the tone was enough to reveal wanting to be alone with Steve.

Sherry gave an insulted look, biting her bottom lip and staring through her half-closed eyelids. She waited a few moments for Claire to vocalize an apology. When she didn't, Sherry stood up, practically stomping off into the kitchen.

Claire could hear the girl's shocking complaints, and suddenly felt very bad. "We shouldn't have done that."

"Who cares?" Steve blankly shrugged.

"She might poison our food," Claire told him, only half-joking.

Steve snorted, and Claire gave Steve a long stare, her eyes locked on his own.

Besides the similar shades of orange, Steve's eyes were noticeably different than Wesker's. The blonde's were so cat-like and spooky, but Steve's were almost… exotic. The pupil's diamond shape made him seem so bewitching and magical. Claire found herself magnified to them, as if they were sucking her in and leading her into a trance. She preferred his eyes this way to the fake contact cover-up.

Even through his agony and confusion, Steve had given such a desperate expression when burning with pain the previous day. He laid there on the floor, heaving and pleading as if in the middle of sexual ecstasy. At the time, Claire had noticed this, but would not allow herself to admit it due to the situation. But, now, thinking back to it, fascinated Claire in the most inappropriate way.

The more she thought about the way his head was thrown back, the way beads of sweat fell from his forehead, the more she felt a distinct stir in her lower stomach.

Uncomfortable, Claire turned away from Steve's stare and down to her feet.

"Something wrong?" Steve asked, his tone sounding deep and sensuous.

Claire wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but thankfully, the clanking pots and pans from the kitchen snapped her out of her thoughts. Just a moment later, Sherry stepped out of the kitchen.

"There's no food," she announced. "Cannibalism it is, I guess."

"None?" Steve questioned. "Why would he lock us in here without food?"

"Maybe he _does _want cannibalism to be the death of us," Sherry suggested, only half-joking. She looked at Steve and said, "No urges?"

Almost instantly, Claire realized what Sherry meant. The idea of Steve craving human meat had never even occurred to her. Steve was infected, but she didn't see him as a monster. He still looked relatively the same, acted the same…

She imagined that as a humanoid Tyrant he would have been far more advanced in every way possible, including diet. Maybe Wesker ate human meat as a Tyrant.

"Get over yourself," Steve told Sherry. "I'm not a mindless zombie, but if it comes down to it, we will eat you."

"Stop acting like a prick just to impress Claire."

"Whatever," Steve groaned.

Sherry picked up the phone on the coffee table. "I guess I can call Wesker in the labs and ask him." She began dialing the number.

"Let me see that," Claire said, reaching over to take the phone from Sherry. "Is there any way to get this to dial outside numbers?"

"No," the voice on the other end said.

Claire jumped, not realizing the call had already gone through. "So, you're leaving us up here with no food?" she inquired, after pressing the phone to her ear.

"Basically, yes," Wesker responded, dryly. "Maybe cannibalism will save you all."

Claire lowered her eyes, but routinely stood up to properly have a phone conversation. The Redfield noticed Sherry took her seat on the couch, and it only made Claire think about the fact the girl had made the same exact comment about cannibalism as Wesker had, almost in the same tone, too.

Not wanting to think about their similarities, Claire turned away to continue speaking to Wesker.

"Are you in love yet?" Sherry whispered to Steve, leaning in so Claire couldn't hear them.

"Shut up," Steve ordered, pushing her away roughly, but not enough to harm her.

"Come on, Steve," Sherry began in a serious tone. "You and I are stuck here because of our families. Claire does not deserve to be here."

"Neither do we!" he yelled.

Claire looked over her shoulder to Sherry and Steve. "If you really want to torture us," she said to Wesker, "then let us die slowly and painfully. Starving one is actually quite a peaceful death."

"That's not going to work," Wesker scolded, catching on to Claire's reverse psychology scheme.

Claire let out a loud, frustrated growl, throwing the phone on the other side of the room in defeat.

Sherry rose from the couch and grabbed the phone from the floor. "Hello?" she greeted, hoping the phone wasn't broken.

"If Claire tries to jump out of the window, let her."

Sherry felt slightly relieved to hear Wesker's voice. At least he was calm, unlike Steve and Claire at the moment. It brought a small amount of comfort, and for that, she was grateful.

"I am rather hungry," she admitted, trying not to sound desperate.

"And, there's no food at all?"

"Just some fruit, but I'm not sure I trust it." Sherry began pacing the room, feeling Claire and Steve's eyes on her.

"I'll have the kitchen bring you up something," he said after a short pause.

"And, what about—?"

"Yes," he agreed, knowing full well she was gong to ask about Steve and Claire.

Sherry was ready to express her gratitude when she heard the line go dead. She figured it was Wesker's way of showing he was still a bastard after doing something relatively nice. Though, whether or not their food was going to be poisoned was another story.

**End of Chapter Seven**


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight: **

**Sounds So Real, I Can Hear It**

xxxxx

"They say truth can be stranger than fiction. Do you think that's the case with me?"

Claire looked up from the magazine she was reading, spotting Steve laying on his back, sprawled out on the carpeted floor. He was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes almost burning into it as he just lay there, not even bothering to turn his head to face her.

Claire raised an eyebrow slowly. The two of them hadn't spoken for about thirty minutes, allowing the peaceful silence to flow throughout the room as they collected their thoughts.

After the food had been delivered the previous night and they finished the entire meal, Claire, Sherry and Steve had all fallen asleep. Sherry had resigned to her room, while Claire and Steve slept in the living room. The couch wasn't very comfortable for two people, but they managed, and Claire had to admit that while it was comforting to rest against Steve as she slept, it was still a bit awkward the following morning. But, something in her accepted the awkwardness, believing it was better for her to feel embarrassed about _that _than to have been horrified she slept leaning against an infected person. Perhaps she was starting to realize there was, in fact, little difference between Steve back on Rockfort Island and Steve _here_: infected and considered "a monster."

A long, heavy sigh escaped the Redfield's lips before she slapped down the magazine on the coffee table and stood up, stretching. Steve finally lifted his head off the floor, giving her a quick look before returning his gaze to the ceiling.

"I don't know," Claire shrugged. "What has fiction portrayed about humanoid Tyrants?"

Steve narrowed his eyes before rolling onto his stomach and resting his head on the floor. "I dunno. There's vampires. Those are sort of similar to Tyrants."

Claire thought about this for a second, realizing he was correct. Even though Tyrants could be exposed to sunlight, intense lighting did bother the infected's eyes. She remembered that when she shined light in some of the zombie's eyes. Vampires were inferior, even if they weren't real.

"I think I'd rather be a vampire," Steve admitted lowly. "At least I could hide away for half the day."

"I don't see a difference from living in a coffin than living with Wesker," Claire muttered. "God, how can you stand that guy?"

"I don't," he said, his mouth pressed against the carpet. "At least, I don't think I do."

"Can someone _please_ explain to me what's so damn special about Albert Wesker?" she snapped, finally asking a question that had been bothering her most of the night.

Steve lifted his head from the floor. "What?"

"This… this _obsession _everyone seems to have with him. Sherry doesn't hate him, you don't hate him, and yet he's a twisted bastard who deserves to be hated! I don't get it!"

The russet haired boy sat up and looked at Claire with confusion. "Claire, I'm really not following you…"

"_Why don't you hate him, Steve_?"

"I never said I didn't!" he yelled.

"You're sure not saying it now!"

"Where is this coming from?" Steve questioned, thrown back.

Claire waved her arms lightly in the air, gesturing around her. "From the fact that neither you or Sherry seem to be complaining about being here!"

"We can't help it if we've gotten used to his presence, but that doesn't mean we're fucking in love with him or anything."

"You could've fooled me," the Redfield droned.

Steve advanced towards Claire, trying to read the expression on her face. "Excuse me? What are you getting at?"

"You _kissed _Wesker when you were in your little hazy trip," Claire blurted out, automatically turning away after she said it. "It was so fucking messed up."

"Claire!" Steve shouted. "_What are you talking about_?"

"Will you stop being so dense!" Claire turned back around, slapping him across the face with all her strength.

Steve, not expecting the blow, instantly fought back with a powerful shove against Claire's shoulders. The Redfield stumbled backwards, the force of the push familiar to when Wesker had hit her on Rockfort Island. She stayed on the floor, not even looking up to Steve when she felt him move down towards her level.

"Claire!" he gaped. "I didn't mean—"

"Fuck you!" she screamed, moving her foot above his knees and pounding it into his stomach. Knowing that she was barefoot would hardly make the attack enough to harm the boy, she grabbed the vase on the coffee table and smashed it against his skull.

"_Goddammit_!" Steve cursed, pushing her backwards so she was pinned to the floor.

The redhead grabbed both her wrists, dragging them above her head and tightening his grip until he heard a loud groan escape her lips. The sound was followed by his own painful cry when she kneed him directly in the groin, making him loosen his hold.

"You are just like him! Just fucking like him!" she spewed, spitting in his face.

Steve shook his head, the saliva dripping down to his neck before he spit back down on her. He pressed his body harder onto her own, digging his knees into her hips as she shut her eyes in pain. "Shut the fuck up, you bitch!" he screamed. "What do you know about having this virus in your body? Nothing, so don't talk about shit you can't relate to!"

Claire managed to free her right hand, using it to attempt and strangle him. "You are so _fucking pathetic_! I should have let you die on Rockfort Island!"

"_You did_!_ Why the _fuck _do you think we're here right now_?"he gargled out, grabbing her hand around his neck and sinking his teeth directly into it.

"Steve—!" Claire bellowed, allowing a long and loud scream to emit as she felt his front fangs dig into her thin skin. "Oh, my God, _stop it_!" she pleaded.

"Admit that you just hate me!" the boy screamed, chucking her arm back to the floor. He pressed more of his weight onto her, licking his lips and tasting the blood released from Claire's hand. "Admit that you'd fucking rather be with your goddamn precious brother!"

"Don't you talk about him, Steve!" Claire ordered, tears falling from her eyes at the stinging pain in her hand. "You're a monster!"

"Take that back, you cunt!" Steve demanded, slapping her directly in the face.

The girl turned her head, looking at the blood escaping her hand. She then looked back at Steve, who continued to taste the lingering fluid on his mouth. "Monster," she repeated.

"Whore!"he declared, before pushing her legs apart so he was sitting between them.

An automatic panic developed in the Redfield when she realized their position, when she realized something hard was pressing against her inner thigh and that Steve was looking straight into her eyes with heated passion and fury.

"Steve…" she whispered, feeling his erection continue to rub over her pair of jeans. "Don't."

"Why shouldn't I?" he spat, practically seething.

"It's not like you," she told him, closing her eyes for a brief second to allow the throbbing pain in her hand to go away.

"You just said I'm a monster," he said. "Why shouldn't I prove it to your fucking selfish self?"

"Stop," she begged, biting her lip to focus on a new pain other than her bleeding hand.

"Your blood," he began, "tastes _so good_."

Before Claire could try and stop him, Steve pressed his lips against hers, and she tasted her own blood still painted on the boy's lips. A bizarre, and very foreign, feeling washed through her, feeling Steve's grip drop from her hands and wrap around the back of her head, guiding her up to allow the kiss to deepen. Claire moaned into his mouth, permitting his hot, slick tongue to enter.

"Claire," he lamented, ending the kiss and looking down at her.

His orange eyes burned into hers, the same needy and hazy look was in them as when he was struggling on the alley floor, begging for the pain to stop. But, this time, blood was spattered around his mouth and her saliva still glistened around his nose and eyes.

She reached up to run her hands through his hair, turning her head slightly to accept his kiss, which she returned with equal fervent.

"Hmm," Claire hummed, pushing her hips upwards and rubbing them against the hardness in Steve's pants.

Steve's hand wandered down her body, stopping above her pants so he could slide it underneath her shirt. Her skin was incredibly warm, contrasting to the faint heat that usually ran through his own body. But, at the moment, he was feeling distinctly warm.

"Ah… _Steve…_" she whimpered, his palm tightening around her left breast. She pressed her body against his even more, spreading her legs so they were on either side of his hips. His hard length lost contact with her thigh, but subsequently rubbed against her own crotch.

Completely lost in the pleasure of the small contact, Claire rocked against him, doing so until she felt Steve begin to unbutton her jeans.

"Steve, we can't," she said, wrapping her bloody hand around his wrist to stop him from removing her pants.

"Why not?" he inquired, purposely making his hot breath hit her neck.

"Sherry's in the other room," she acknowledged.

Steve laughed lowly. "Are you kidding? Don't you think she would be out here by now?"

She blinked. "W-What? Then, where is she?" Claire asked, completely confused.

"She left with Wesker this morning. I heard her leave the room at 8 a.m."

"Steve!" Claire shouted, rising up and making them lose contact. "Where did she go!"

The redhead sighed in frustration. "I don't know!"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you knew."

"Oh, my God," she breathed. "It's almost noon. Where could they be?"

"Ice cream social?"

"Steve!" Claire repeated, pushing him off her and standing up. "What if something happened?"

"I doubt she would walk off with him if she knew he was going to kill her," Steve said dully.

"I can't believe this…" Claire muttered, pressing her face into her hands to wipe off Steve's spit.

It was then that Claire realized the extent of her hand wound. She stared down at it, holding it in the other. "It's not deep enough for infection," she examined.

Steve lowered his eyes as he rose from the floor. "I'm… sorry…"

Claire wasn't sure if she should accept that apology. She wasn't even sure if _she_ should apologize back. They certainly did get… carried away.

"Infection," she repeated, knowingly. "Semen probably carries strains of the viruses. Like HIV."

Steve furrowed his brow. "It's not a fucking STD," he defended.

"But, the two can be transferred in similar ways," Claire admitted. "We… can't…"

Another sigh escaped Steve. "Yeah, I guess not," he agreed, rubbing the back of his head where Claire broke the vase. There was no blood, but it still throbbed. "I really am sorry, Claire."

"I know you are, but… I think…" Claire paused, rephrasing her sentence. "We needed to get that out."

"What, the anger, or the sexual frustration?"

Claire scoffed, and after a second, she let out a full laugh. She shook her head. "Both," she shrugged.

Steve looked at her for moment, seeing the smeared blood he transferred onto her face. "I think I saw some gauze in the bathroom," he told her, quickly disappearing into the lavatory.

"Fuck," Claire sighed, throwing her weight back into the couch.

"Here," Steve said, returning with the roll of gauze and rubbing alcohol.

The girl lifted her hand when Steve sat on the coffee table before her, unrolling the bandages. He wet some of the gauze, gently pressing the material onto her wound. She hissed, sucking her breath as she adjusted to the burning sensation.

"God, I'm so sorry," he repeated once more.

Claire still did not feel the need to apologize to him, even if she should have. She just sat back, allowing him to wrap her palm with the gauze until it was covered properly. Afterwards, he tied it and brought the Redfield's hand up to his mouth to kiss.

Before it made contact with his lips, Claire pulled her hand away. "Stop."

A quick flash of anger went through Steve's eyes. "Just because I didn't tell you about Sherry doesn't mean you have to be pissy."

"I'm worried!" Claire exclaimed. "I already don't trust that man as it is, but with Sherry, it's just… wrong for them to be together."

"They're not fucking each other, if that's what you think!"

Claire's eyes widened. "Steve! Don't ever say that again! That's disgusting!"

"Whatever, Claire. I know that's what you fear," he mumbled.

"Should I start believing it?" she questioned in a panic.

Steve gave a clueless shrug. "Wesker doesn't fall under the category of pedophile in my book."

Claire poked at her bandaged hand. "He kissed _you_," she informed once more, almost ruefully.

"Yeah, okay, I'm starting to remember that. But, I thought it was you," the boy announced. "I'm not a fag."

The girl bit the inside of her cheek, distracted by the thought of what Wesker had said the day before. "He told me that sometimes he thinks he _should_ seduce you to prove a point."

Steve's let his mouth drop as he formed a revolted expression. "_He's _a fag?"

It was Claire's turn to give a clueless shrug. "So, it's between Wesker being a pedophile or Wesker being gay? Why are we even having this conversation?"

"Uh, you're the one trying to find some excuse to hate Wesker," Steve notified.

"I don't need an _excuse_," she protested. "There are tons of _reasons _to hate him."

"I know, and I understand…" he let his sentence drift away as he walked back to the bathroom to replace the items in their original locations.

"Where could they have possibly gone?" Claire mused, her shoulders sagging.

"Honestly, I would say they went back to Wesker's house. Maybe Sherry is going to stay there from now on. She goes to school after all." Steve plopped down on the couch, next to Claire, relaxing his feet on the coffee table.

"I'd prefer to be near her," Claire said as she continued to mess with her wound. She pressed down on her palm, making the blood absorb in the gauze.

Steve's eyes shifted, locking on the deep red color that seeped through the bandage. He could smell her blood, which made him realize he had not cleaned off the blood around his mouth. Slowly, he licked his lips, tasting the metallic plasma only slightly. But the Redfield kept pressing on her wound and the blood kept seeping through.

"It's not deep, but it won't stop bleeding," she commented.

"Yeah…" he murmured, keeping his eyes on her hand.

Claire heard the lazy tone and looked up, only to realize he was staring not at her, but at her wound. She froze, not sure what to do. "Steve…?" she called out.

"Yeah?" he replied, but again, did not look at anything but her hand.

She hid her hands behind her back, making Steve's head move along with them. He began extending his arm, taking her hand out from behind her back and slowly—almost delicately—lifting it towards his mouth as he unwrapped it. The gauze fell on her lap, but she did not take her hand away. Steve was not being violent.

Claire gasped when the boy's tongue hit her wound. She tried to move away, but Steve wrapped his other hand around her wrist, preventing her from doing so. Still, he was not forceful. She relaxed.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised, mouth still locked on her wound.

The Redfield shut her eyes when Steve's lips pressed against the opening of her wound, sucking on it and draining the blood. She pursed her lips, not enjoying the stinging. She balled her free hand into a fist.

"It's okay," he coaxed.

Steve's teeth grazed the wound and the undamaged skin around it began to dampen from his excess saliva. It was the combination of his warm emission and slick, hot tongue that began to thrill Claire, causing her let out a soft moan.

_He can't do this to me again, _she told herself, knowing that his exotic eyes and messy hair would soon begin flashing in her mind.

"Mmm," she moaned, feeling his tongue slide between the opening walls of her broken, mutilated skin.

Seeing that she was enjoying that certain sensation, Steve flicked his tongue in and out of the wound. He then licked it, over and over, before massaging it with his bottom lip, and—

—and the door began to unlock.

Feeling as if she was in the middle of something terribly wrong, Claire jerked, pulling her hand away from Steve and standing up in a rush. She turned away from Steve, quickly beginning to re-bandage the wound. She then looked to see who was at the door, and it was none other than Wesker. But, Sherry was not with him.

Neither Claire nor Steve said anything when he looked at them, obviously waiting for a comment.

"I see I walked in on something," he concluded. "I guess it was a good idea to let Sherry stay at the house."

"Fucker," the Redfield simply proclaimed.

"You're disappointed Sherry can't watch you too fuck on the couch?" he wondered, completely deadpanned.

"I'm not even in the mood for this," she said. "I just want to get _out _of this hellhole."

"I might be able to satisfy that wish of yours," Wesker began, looking at Steve who was still sitting completely frozen on the couch, looking in the direction of the turned-off television.

"Steve?" Claire asked, taking notice of Wesker's stare.

He closed his eyes, a dismissal of both their company. At least he was responding in some way.

"Anyway," Wesker continued, "if you two are interested, you can keep Sherry company at the house."

"I'm so glad you care about our well-being," Claire remarked. "Will we be imprisoned and spied on 24/7?"

"That depends on if you are stupid enough to try and pull something."

"I want to go back there," Steve finally spoke. He rose and turned to look at Wesker. "It's better there."

Claire shifted her eyes back and forth from Wesker and Steve, watching their far away interaction.

"You have blood on your face," the blonde observed. "What happened?"

"I bit Claire," Steve told him.

Claire's eyes widened, horrified that Steve would just admit it like that. Again, she tried to hide her hands behind her back, but knew it was not only childish, but also useless. She supposed she just didn't want to give Wesker the privilege of seeing her wrapped-up wound.

"You should be more careful around him," Wesker suggested with a sarcastic tone.

"The only one I need to be careful around is you," she responded, turning on her heel and walking into her bedroom. She slammed the door, but afterwards, just stood there, unsure what to do next.

"Why did you bite her?" Wesker asked from the other side of the door, his question directed towards Steve.

Claire decided she was going to listen to the conversation. She turned to face the door, pressing her body against it to hear more closely.

"We kind of started to… fight. And, I was angry, so I just bit her," Steve explained.

"What did I walk in on, then?" Wesker questioned.

"Pseudo-vampirism," Steve ground out, sounding embarrassed. "I was trying to make her feel better, 'cause I didn't really _mean _to hurt her."

After a short pause, Wesker said, "It's not abnormal if that was your intention, Steve." His tone lacked a reassuring comfort. "You shouldn't worry when you feel some desire to hurt and explore someone uninfected. You should worry when you don't, because that either means you're denying what you feel or that you are just a miserable Tyrant."

"Miserable?" Steve echoed.

"As in unsuccessful," the man clarified.

"Well, Mr. Know-It-All, how do _you _deal with all these desires, as you call them?" Claire could hear Steve move around as he spoke.

"I've learned to control them. There's a difference between that and just bottling them up."

Steve gave a tired exhale. "I don't want to be like those fucktard zombies."

"You don't have to be, Steve. It's not necessarily blood or meat you want; it's their humanity. Because we can feel them so distinctly and they are different, we are occasionally drawn to them. It's foreign and unique. Our taste buds are more developed, as are our scent and eyesight. You're getting used to that just like I did. It will eventually pass, but in the meantime, you might want to explore the attraction to get it out of your system."

"Attraction?" Steve repeated. "Are we talking about me being a Tyrant or my… uh, feelings for… Claire?"

"Claire is a human, so you have an attraction to her. But, at the same time, you are also emotionally attached to her, so your attraction is much more intense than it normally would be if you had no past with her." Wesker was moving around as far as Claire could tell, and she assumed he went to sit on the couch.

"So," Steve voiced, "you're attracted to Claire?"

Wesker gave a cold scoff, and Claire could practically see the equally malicious grin on his face. "I learned to cope with being around humans. I no longer need them, desire them, or even am curious about them. I'm far more interested in my own kind, so to speak."

Claire furrowed her brow, disgusted by the statement. What was even more mind boggling was that Wesker seemed to be hinting at something a bit more out of reach, at least with Steve's comprehension. He certainly just suggested some form of attraction towards those infected just like him. Claire remembered how he explained the connection T-Virus creatures felt towards one another, so was it possible for that familiarity to be attraction and desire, too?

It dawned upon Claire that by standing so close to the door, Wesker would probably sense her presence. She moved away until the back of her knees hit the box spring of the bed. She tried to focus on Wesker and Steve's conversation but was too far away to hear all of it.

"…Sherry wouldn't…is she…school…"

After a short pause, Claire heard Wesker's jumbled words: "There isn't… and Claire…but you…tomorrow morning…"

"Why?" Steve asked loudly.

"It's just going to be easier for everyone," Wesker explained as he walked by Claire's door.

"Fine, fuck you!" Steve called out before the slamming of a door.

The Redfield was still curious as to what angered Steve so quickly. Was it something about Sherry?

'_They're not fucking each other, if that's what you think!'_

Once again, Claire found herself bothered by the thought. Sherry was passed puberty, but she was still a young girl, who was still growing and was not in any way, shape or form, sexually mature. Most girls her age were aware of their sexuality and what it could do, but it made Claire's stomach sink to think about if Sherry had ever used her sexuality to get something. Sherry was still so innocent as far as Claire could tell, but why did she seem to have a hold on Wesker?

"Claire?"

"Leave me alone," she blurted out before thinking.

"What did I fucking do now?" the boy nagged.

"Just… just leave me alone, okay? I need some time to think."

It that wasn't avoiding the inevitable, Claire didn't know what was; but thankfully, at least it gave her time to mull over some questions she had about Sherry and Wesker's relationship. Besides, her hand was beginning to sting again, and the Redfield knew she couldn't face Steve until it stopped aching.

xxxxx

It was around 6 o'clock at night, and the breeze from the open, sliding glass window was gently flowing throughout the room as Steve and Claire sat, completely apart from each other in the dimly lit dormitory. Both had the same exact subject on their minds: Sherry. Though, perhaps Steve's ponderings were slightly more negative than Claire's. After all, Claire, who was sitting out on the balcony in a single cushioned lounge chair, was so sick to her stomach with worry that she felt like she was going to throw-up.

When Wesker left earlier in the afternoon, he had no doubt returned to his little house, where Sherry was staying.

It disturbed Claire greatly that they were alone in a house together. Especially at night. Sleeping. Sherry, being completely comfortable with _Albert Wesker _in the same house. All the meanwhile, Claire was trying to get comfortable around Steve again, even though he hadn't spoken to her since Wesker left. She felt like exploding all her frustrations on Steve, but what that led to last time made her fear what it might lead to _now. _She definitely was not in the mood for another physical shuffle.

Claire wrapped her left hand around her right palm, gently squeezing the wound to let a sting of pain pass. From the corner of her eye, Claire saw Steve reclined on the couch and watching TV. His head jerked towards the dormitory's front entrance, and he rose from his seat shortly after. This movement caused Claire to stand as well, walking back into the center of the living room as Steve examined the door.

"What's going on?" Claire asked, the first sound of a voice in a few hours.

"I just heard it unlock," he told her.

Claire stepped towards the door, trying to listen for a voice. When she heard nothing, she placed her hand over the knob, but did not turn it right away.

"I feel something," Steve said.

"Are you sure it's not me?" the girl questioned, knowing Steve meant something in relation to humans.

He nodded. "I'm sure. It's a stranger."

With that said, Claire turned the knob, swinging the door open and hopping backwards for a safe distance between the door and her. But, no one was in the hallway.

"Don't move," Steve whispered. "I still feel them."

The russet haired boy stepped into the long hallway, realizing briefly that he did not remember being led through the area before. While he was facing one end of the hallway he felt Claire move behind him, searching for another presence in the same direction as him.

"You two are going to be escorted downstairs."

The two turned to the voice behind them, seeing a single man standing directly in the middle of the hallway's width. He had a rifle strapped to his back, but was not making any attempt to threaten them with it. This relaxed Claire.

"You are going to be taken to Mr. Wesker's house," the man began, his voice husky. "We've been instructed to take extreme measures if you cause any type of trouble."

"_Mister _Wesker?" Steve snorted, turning to Claire to see if she wanted to share the laughter.

Claire couldn't help rolling her eyes at Steve's flip reaction to a professional label involving Wesker. Instead of dwelling on it, she grabbed Steve by the upper-arm, towering his height so she could whisper:

"You've been there before. So tell me, is it some psychotic prison where he's more likely to kill us?"

Steve, slightly shocked by the physical contact, moved his arm away from her grip before looking at her fully to respond. "Let's just see where this goes," he suggested, not even bothering to whisper.

"Sounds like you want to go," she threw back, almost hissing. She then added, "Well, I know you were aware Wesker wanted to take us there. I heard you this afternoon."

"Sherry's there, isn't she?" he pointed out, his tone more tense than it was previously.

"That doesn't mean this whole thing isn't a trick!"

Steve took a moment to absorb the intensity of her anger and fear, wondering exactly why she was so over-the-edge. Had she truly been bothered by the conversation he had with Wesker earlier, or was she just embarrassed over the fight? Neither was good in the end, but at least if it was over the fight he could apologize. It wasn't like he could apologize for being infected.

"If you're all set to go, follow us," the guard said, turning around and walking as if he had already been given an answer.

Steve began following first, not even looking back to see if Claire was coming, too. He knew she would eventually follow—she _would not_ want to stay cramped-up in this building forever. Wesker's house had a much homier feel to it, and there was scenery outside the windows.

The guard reached the end of the hall, the elevator and emergency stairs located right alongside the wall. When Steve entered the small, red-carpeted elevator, he saw Claire was walking down the hall, practically dragging her feet as she approached.

She entered the elevator last, leaning against the gold railing, far away from Steve and the guard. She noticed on the button panel a key inserted in a hole next to the button GF2.

_Garage floor, _she concluded.

They rode down in silence, Claire tapping her foot on the floor while Steve eyed her as cautiously as possible. When they reached the bottom and the doors slid open, the guard removed the key from the slot and began walking into the dark parking garage.

Claire stayed close to Steve now, walking right next to him as they passed cars. The guard stopped at a small, gray vehicle that looked like any other everyday car. He opened the passenger door and gave Claire a nod of the head, gesturing for her to go first.

She didn't move.

"Miss Redfield," the man called out, trying to get her attention.

Steve made the first move, walking ahead and climbing into the backseat to sit on the left side. Claire sighed, following suit.

"Try to hide your excitement," she told Steve bitterly.

"You know, I have absolutely no idea what your problem is right now," he admitted. "I really doubt we're being taken to a back alley to be shot, so can you try and be grateful?"

"Grateful for what?" she asked. "For being _kidnapped_? Chris must think I am dead right now and do you think that is comforting to me?"

"It's _always _about little ole Chris," he grumbled, too low for Claire to hear.

"Just fuck off!" She turned to face the window just as the guard came around the car and got into the driver's seat. When she heard the car start-up, the Redfield closed her eyes, all the same time, biting her lip to prevent her from saying more.

xxxxx

The slam of the door finally woke Claire. Steve peered through the dark-tinted window as he stood outside the car, watching as she stretched her muscles and allowed her mind to recognize where she was and what was happening.

He opened the car door for her, offering a hand so she could get out of the car. For a brief second, she looked up at him suspiciously, but quickly took his hand to be lightly lifted off the seat.

Steve nodded, the warmth of her wounded, bandaged palm circulating up his arm. "So, um, yeah… we're here," he announced and watched as she examined the house.

She stared at the short-cut grass—partly dry due to the cold months—then, looked at the large tree that perched over the right side of the house, blocking most of the side windows. The two-story house itself was very modern, although Claire did not doubt the possibility of an underground lab running through the sewers.

The front door suddenly opened and Claire was prepared to see Wesker standing there, smiling deviously. But, instead, a lithe, small figure stood there, the light from the house glowing around the person and contrasting with the darkness outside. It was just a skinny, little black figure, but Claire knew it had to be Sherry.

Soon, the girl stepped outside, the illumination ending, allowing Steve and Claire to see her properly. Sherry's bare feet slapped against the cement walkway as she approached them, occasionally, sinking into the sides of the grass lined along the path.

"Glad to see you two again," she chirped.

"Where's Wesker?" Steve wondered.

Sherry simply gestured towards the house. "Inside. He's making salad."

Claire let out a loud scoff, amused. Sherry raised an eyebrow and Steve just blinked wordlessly. The Redfield realized quickly that Sherry was not joking. She was about to inform them how ridiculous Chef Albert Wesker sounded, but when the gray car's lights lit-up and the vehicle began backing out of the driveway, Claire lost her thought.

"He set up a room for you," Sherry said, looking at Claire.

"Typical," Steve coughed out, turning away from the two girls to look out towards the other houses.

Claire sighed. "That's not going to make me feel anymore comfortable and he knows it. He's just _trying _to look like a nice guy."

Sherry laughed at this. "Believe me, he's not. He has no reason to! I guess Wesker just has house guest manners."

Claire cocked her head, trying to figure out if that laugh was a way of Sherry mocking her. Sherry's lips remained curled into a loose grin as she folded her arms to protect herself from a gust of wind. The blonde was only wearing a pair of cotton red shorts and a black tank top, an obvious lounging ged-up. Claire was actually uncomfortable with the way she was dressed and not because of the cold weather.

"You probably have numerous change of clothing," Sherry informed.

The Redfield must have been too obvious with her feelings toward the girl's apparel, since Sherry chose to mention what Wesker had _generously _decided to give out. Once more, Claire had to wonder if Sherry just said it to be helpful, or if she was getting back at Claire for judging her own outfit. Why did Sherry almost seem so… scary?

"I'm going inside. It's cold," Steve voiced, walking by the two girls and going into the brightly lit house by crossing the lawn.

Sherry watched him go and then nodded at Claire. "It's okay, you know," she began as she walked back into the house. "At least since you're here now, you won't feel so locked away."

Claire entered the house, feeling not only a change in temperature, but in lighting. The golden light beamed into her eyes, only blinding her more by the hue of cranberry, forest green and brown that decorated nearly every inch of the living room. The black stone of a coffee table, which Steve was examining, stood out the most. The house almost looked normal.

"A new table!" Steve exclaimed in an odd tone. "Well, _shoot_."

Claire turned her head, trying to get a better view of the staircase that stood between a small, practically nonexistent, mud room and the front door.

"This time, if you break if, you'll only hurt yourself," Wesker said, walking out behind a large wall pillar that had a breakfast bar attached to the other side.

Claire stepped back, pure instinct, and saw behind the man was a table set out with four oval bowls filled with green, wet salad. There was a glass of water at each place mat, too.

"I'm not eating that shit," Claire spoke, pointing towards the table.

"Claire," Sherry droned, a warning somewhere underneath.

Steve stopped examining the table and looked at Claire, unsure what to say to her. He gave a quick sigh and then suggested, "I'll show you your room, how about that?"

The boy walked towards her, turning to walk up the stairs. Claire gave Sherry—who was just taking a seat at the dinner table—a quick look, then followed the redhead up the steps.

When she reached the top, she looked down the right side, seeing two closed doors and an open bathroom. On the left, there were three open rooms. As she walked by two, she realized they were Steve and Sherry's. The last one was especially for her.

Steve was standing near the closet when she walked fully in, noticing the room was made entirely up of green and golden décor. The walls were blank, unlike Sherry's room, but the vase of faux flowers on the bureau and golden-rimmed mirror above it made the room look full. She even supposed it was _pretty. _

"Look at this!" Steve shouted, pulling out a denim jacket and tan cords with trendy scuffed-up knees folded underneath the hanger.

"Oh, Christ," Claire swore, moving closer to the closet to get a look at the other outfits. "I'm sure yours aren't this ridiculous."

"Actually, yes. I mean, I think they are nice, but everything always seems so… expensive and classy."

Claire pulled out a white, fitted shirt with a pattern of roses and thorns printed on the front. There were three rips along the bottom, but the attire looked like it cost at least over a hundred dollars. She could have found a similar shirt at the thrift shop. Even all the fashionably beat-up jeans in the closet looked too classy.

"Why would he spend so much money on clothing for us?" she asked, putting the shirt back and looking at a purple silk dress, beaded with white embroidery along the long slit. "It's… creepy."

"I don't think it's about buttering us up, at least not completely. I guess this is the kind of clothing he buys, to hell with money."

"So, the moral here is that if we are vicious criminals, we can afford nice clothes?"

"Isn't that always the case?"

Claire hung up the dress and took a seat on the twin-sized bed. She collapsed backwards, staring up at the ceiling absently. She felt the weight on the bed shift as Steve sat down, too, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Chris thinks I'm dead," Claire said with no attempt to make it a question anymore.

"I'm sure he'll keep looking for you, just like you kept looking for him," Steve told her, his tone vacant of true empathy.

Claire sat up to yell at the russet-haired boy for this, but saw that he looked vaguely sad, almost resentful, too. For a second, Claire thought maybe he was just tired, but quickly it dawned upon her that perhaps he _was _resentful of Chris. While Claire had someone to rely on and know was out there, Steve literally had no one. That realization made her want to embrace him, but at the same time—as thoughts of their physical intimacy ran through her mind—_it scared her_. It was no wonder Steve was so conflicted over Wesker. The man was probably the only person who ever offered Steve some form of stability and trust.

"I'm sorry about earlier, when I locked myself in the room," Claire said dejectedly.

"I know you heard my conversation with Wesker, so I guess I can understand."

Claire smiled and reached out to touch Steve's face. The boy jerked, but began to relax when she kept her hand there. If he stayed still long enough, he swore he could feel her blood running through her thin veins. He took her hand in his and examined the red-stained gauze, most of the dried blood stuck to her palm.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked.

"It's okay," she told him. "Most of the throbbing has gone away."

Briefly, silence swept upon them.

"I just can't bring myself to rely on Wesker for everything, Steve. It's just so… wrong."

As Claire leaned against the wall just adjacent to the window, Steve continued to stroke Claire's palm over the gauze.

"Maybe now you'll be a bit more understanding about how Sherry and I are dealing with it," he said.

"Steve, it's not that I don't understand it. It's just… I don't get how you accept it so easily." Claire moved her hand away from the boy's grip and slowly brought her knees up against her chest. "I just want to go home."

"Knock-knock," a voice said from the doorframe.

"Sherry," Claire greeted, smiling a bit.

"Since you guys probably aren't going to come down, I just wanted to let you know, um… leftovers are in the 'fridge." For a quick second, the girl took in the scene of Claire huddled against the wall with Steve lazily sitting there with her. She seemed curious as to what had the two cinematically positioned, like two depressed teens, but she just walked away afterward.

"That was weird," Claire said.

"Well, she's a weird kid," Steve shrugged.

"Don't you think it is freaky how she seems to have a hold on Wesker?"

"Truthfully," Steve said, "I haven't noticed. I mean, sure, he treats her better than us, but I always figured that was because he worked with her father."

"Sherry isn't all that capable of figuring out good from bad, especially when it's in the form of an adult." Claire collapsed effortlessly on her side, finding that for the first time, the bed was extremely comfortable. She moved her legs around, unpleased with the feeling of her jeans constricting around her thighs.

"Sleep?" Steve mumbled.

Claire nodded and was about to suggest Steve leave for his own room. But, tiredness swept through her body, making her eyes shut as she felt Steve start to massage her palm once more.

**End of Chapter Eight**


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine: **

**Good News For People Who Love Bad News**

xxxxx

Sherry sat at the top of the stairs, fixing her white knee-high socks before buckling her polished dress shoes. Down the hall, she heard Wesker brushing his teeth in the bathroom, the gushing water blocking out the sound of him spitting into the sink. Even though she was somewhat far away, she could smell his cologne: a deep, rich scent that reminded Sherry of her father when he came home after seemingly working for a week straight. Sherry did not know if her father actually wore cologne, but there were definitely times when he smelt ideally different than normal, and Sherry had always been more interested than mystified.

From the corner of her eye, the girl saw the bathroom light go off and Wesker walking towards her.

"Excuse me," the blonde man said, making it sound like more of a regulation than good manners.

Sherry scooted away so Wesker could walk down the stairs, but she purposely sat up as he passed so she could catch a whiff of the cologne directly from his neck. The man continued walking down, not even bothering to look back at her. Maybe he hadn't noticed what she did. And, she was glad. She wasn't sure how Wesker would react to her explaining about her father and _his_ cologne.

She followed down the stairs slowly, watching as Wesker situated his blue tie against his black shirt.

It was around 7 o'clock, just thirty minutes before school started and an hour before Wesker had to be at work. Sherry had a bowl of cereal, but Wesker didn't have anything except coffee, which smelt far too strong for Sherry's taste.

Sherry sat down on the couch to arrange her schoolbag, which rested on the coffee table. Wesker was looking out the back sliding glass door when he broke the silence.

"It's raining outside."

Sherry put her geometry book in her bag. "I know. I have an umbrella," she replied, "and a poncho."

"Maybe I should drive you," he offered.

"No, I'm fine," she argued, standing up and swinging the bag over her shoulder. "I'm leaving now." She pulled her left sock up once more before she grabbed her poncho and umbrella on the coat rack.

She left the house, closing the door behind her with quite the force.

Claire, who had been standing at the top of the stairs, began to walk down, leaning over the railing to spot Wesker gazing out of the backdoor with a very unreadable expression. She knew Wesker was already aware of her presence, but it frustrated her how he refused to say the first word.

"Nice job dressing Sherry in those attractive schoolgirl clothes," Claire greeted, her wounded hand tightening on the railing as she said it.

Wesker turned to face her. "It's called a school uniform," he informed her blandly.

Claire looked down at her own clothes—a gray, long-sleeved turtle neck and a pair of faded jeans—and knew Wesker must have been satisfied that she managed to submit to wearing the attire. Next was the food, and since she had been awake since 5 a.m. with her stomach growling, she knew she was going to break in that category, too.

"I noticed how cozy Steven and you slept last night," the man commented as he picked up his coffee mug from a small lamp table.

Claire complexion turned pink and even though it was childish she couldn't help but throw back, "Oh, does that make you jealous?"

Wesker slowly took a sip of coffee. "Why would it?" he asked, using his lower-lip to wipe away the excess coffee on his mouth.

"You tell me," Claire said, mildly embarrassed by her immaturity.

The man scoffed. "How badly do you want to go home, Claire?"

Claire furrowed her brow and smacked her lips in replacement of laughter. She wasn't even going to bother biting onto Wesker's bait this time. Instead, she said, "So, you're going to work." She then raised her arms in a small shrug. "What does that leave Steve and me to do all day? Try and run away?"

"I figured you would try that."

"I suppose you set-up something to prevent it, though."

"Of course. Are you interested in hearing about it?"

Claire put her head to her forehead and exhaled annoyingly. "No, I'm really not."

Wesker just gave his grin. "Very well, but I must warn you, since you'll be bored all day: semen contains traces of the T-Virus."

"You must think I'm a blooming idiot if I didn't already know that!" she argued absently, trying to fight the color in her skin to redden all over again.

"All right, but I will also go ahead and share with you that a _condom_ will effectively work."

Claire turned away from the blonde, uncomfortable with the conversation. Now it was _her_ turn to face out the glass window. She focused her mind on gazing dully at the rain hitting the dead grass, just to avoid Wesker moving around behind her. She quickly thought about how the possibility of snow was slim. If anything, the rain would freeze and they'd get hail. She always hated when it rained in the late winter. It rained all year, why did it have to go and interfere with the one season it snowed during?

Claire heard the door close and she let out a half-relieved, half-humiliated sigh. Why was this happening? What would Chris think if he knew she was living with Wesker? Even she had no idea what to think because it was so surreal. She felt as if she was still dreaming.

The Redfield pushed her forehead against the glass, the precipitation wetting her skin automatically. She gave once last look at the rain before she turned her head, noticing a door underneath where the staircase reached the top floor. She walked over to it, opening the door.

Poking her head inside, she discovered it was an office of the sort. It was a very light beige color. She stepped in the room fully, and in the corner, was a _bed. _Instantly, she realized this was Wesker's room.

She backed up, tempted to leave. But, while half the room appeared to just be an ordinary bedroom, the other half seemed like a mini-office. There were papers scattered around a fax machine and printer. A computer also rested on the dark desk, along with a telephone and lamp.

Claire walked over, pushing through the folders. She found a manila folder with her name and opened it. After reading the first line, she dropped it back onto the desk. She'd seen that particular file before, and it was obviously Umbrella's. Steve's, nor Sherry's, files were anywhere, but there was a folder that said _Birkin, William_ on it. It was empty.

Frustrated, Claire didn't even attempt to turn on the computer, as she knew it would be password protected. Near the mouse, there was a notepad with various numbers here and there, and finally, a stack of books on the ledge of the desk. They were boring science nonsense, so she didn't care to skim through them.

Claire pulled out the chair and sat at the desk, digging through the drawers. Pens and blank paper were nearly organized in most of the drawers, but in the very bottom one, there was another stack of folders. She grabbed them.

The first one had various letters in them, the first one with yesterday's date. She began reading:

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_After investigating the whereabouts of Chris Redfield, Rebecca Chambers, Jill Valentine, Barry Burton and Carlos Oliveira, we've only been successful with one. Some very reliable sources indicate Chris Redfield has been imprisoned on Rockfort Island, after an attempt to locate his sister, Claire Redfield, who is now in Albert Wesker's care. It is very important we take action in order to secure our own mission's success on the island, and undoubtedly, exterminate Chris Redfield, if the chance arises._

Claire stared at the document for several minutes before she moved again. She stood up, allowing all the folders to fall to the floor. She paced the room, checking the calendar on the wall to make sure she had the date right. When she was positive she wasn't hallucinating, Claire gathered up the folders and replaced them in the drawer. She then straightened up the desk to make it look like no one had been snooping.

Had Wesker mentioned anything about Rockfort Island? She didn't think so, but that didn't mean anything. Maybe he was planning on going so he could finish off Chris himself. Of course, Claire doubted that could actually happen, but she still worried. Oh, _God_, and the thought Chris was actually imprisoned on that island, just as she was a few months ago.

_Fuck!_

She pulled on her own hair in stress then exhaled to calm down. She supposed asking Steve wasn't out of the question, but what if he knew something and wasn't telling Claire? She could never be sure unless she asked.

This bit of information was obviously something Wesker never intended on having Claire find out. If Wesker was going to Rockfort Island, would he tell them? And, if so, would he take Steve?

Claire heard the floor above her creak. Not wanting to be caught in the room, Claire slowly walked out, closing the door afterwards. She continued to hear some various movements upstairs, and so, went to check on Steve.

As she walked up the stairs, she decided very quickly she wasn't going to mention any of this to Steve, just to see if she herself could catch anything suspicious between Wesker and him. She hated to think Steve was lying to her, but anything was possible.

Reaching the bedroom, she saw Steve was still entangled in the sheets. She walked in, sitting on the bed quietly. He was either daydreaming, or had fallen back to sleep because he didn't seem to notice her. Awkwardly, she watched Steve sleep for several moments. But, it didn't take long before Steve felt her gaze and opened his eyes, blinking a few times for his sight to clear. He smiled, then yawned, pushing his body up and leaning against the wall.

"Hey," he said.

Claire smiled back. "Hey."

Steve took her hand and said, "We should change this before it gets infected."

Claire was taken back by the instant concern, but nodded, also noting he meant infected as in _gunky_ and _nasty_, not mutilated and zombified. Though, truthfully, she wasn't sure about the difference. The irony of word choice was amusing nonetheless.

The Redfield stood up and went into the hall to head into the bathroom. As she passed Sherry's room she forced herself not to look inside, too disturbed by what she had been thinking about the girl to actually stare at her belongings.

When she reached the bathroom, she began searching the medicine cabinet. She heard Steve walk into the bathroom behind her, but she just continued to dig through the cabinet. She found a roll of gauze shortly after.

Unwrapping her wound, Steve turned on the faucet and took her hand. "Let me," he insisted, straightening up.

Claire dropped her unwounded hand and allowed Steve to guide her hand under the semi-hot water. Just as he was about to scrub off the dry plasma, Claire yanked her hand out from underneath the water.

"Okay, it's done," she said, reaching for a clean towel. She began drying it.

Steve pursed his lips, noticing Claire's discomfort. "What's wrong?"

Claire's eyes narrowed. "Nothing…"

The russet-haired boy turned off the faucet. "Whatever."

The girl felt bad, and so, explained, "It's just that you're acting like I'm letting you touch my cunt, or something. I don't get why you're so obsessed with my bloody wound."

Steve's cheeks flushed. "It's not _that. _It's just that, I did it to you, and I feel bad."

Claire allowed herself to smile. It reminded her of how she was supposed to feel for Steve, and that made her wonder whether or not she should tell him about the document once again. If Wesker even wanted Claire to go (probably out of some sick thrill of making her suffer), he wasn't going to let her unless he acted like she didn't know about Chris.

"What is it?" Steve wondered.

Claire stepped back and sat on the ledge of the bathtub. She looked at her wound, which seemed to be getting better already. "I don't know what we're going to do all day," she lied.

"Oh," Steve said, sitting next to her. "Try and figure out how to escape?"

Claire sincerely had to wonder whether that's what Steve wanted. But, she didn't voice it. "I doubt Wesker made escape easy."

"True," Steve commented, already seeming to give up on the idea of escape. "But, you know, I'm really glad that you are here now."

Claire smiled fully. "Thanks."

Standing up, Steve said, "Let's allow your hand to get some fresh air, okay?"

Claire agreed and just threw the gauze back into the cabinet when she stood up again.

The two walked out of the bathroom, both heading downstairs. In the living room, Steve fell back on the couch and stretched, but Claire went into the kitchen. She opened the 'fridge, seeing just about every normal food group in there. On the third shelf was a plastic container with a sticky note attached.

The words "_It's not poisoned, we promise_!"were written, clearly in Sherry's handwriting.

Claire opened the container and saw the green salad inside. As delicious as it looked, salad wasn't much of a breakfast.

She replaced the container and closed the 'fridge before opening a nearby cabinet. There were cereal boxes, which Sherry had undoubtedly picked out since the titles obnoxiously included _Fruity Wonders _and _Cocoa Goods._ Wesker would never buy anything like that for himself.

'_We promise.'_

That small note ran through her mind again.

_We_, meaning Wesker and Sherry. Like they were one: a single entity, _a pair._

Sherry probably hadn't even realized she had grouped that man with herself as a "we," and that was the most sickening part. Sherry was starting to subconsciously acknowledge the man, like it didn't matter anymore. Claire was about to gargle a scream, but the phone in the living room interrupted her. Peering around the corner of the wall, Claire saw Steve pick it up.

"Hello?"

Claire pursed her lips and sat on the other couch. Steve was nodding to the person on the other end and began to fidget around nervously. After a minute or two, he responded:

"It sounds to me like you're actually giving me a choice this time." Then a moment later, "Pssh, then why are you telling me like you're going to ask?"

Claire leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Steve's eyes lowered as he breathed in deeply.

"Why…?" he asked distantly.

Claire was even more curious when Steve looked up at her intensely.

"Okay," he said and clicked off the phone. He blinked at Claire. "He said we're going to Rockfort."

Claire tried to look surprised, and frankly, she sort of _was_. She furrowed her brow as she voiced, "Rockfort _Island_?"

"The one and only."

Claire tried, once again, to figure out exactly why they were going other than Chris, but she honestly could say she wouldn't have cared as much as knowing her brother was going to be there.

"He said there was something we needed."

Claire tilted her head. "What could possibly be on that island?"

Steve gave a shrug, but explained, "Wesker said that some Umbrella workers are trying to get it up and running again. And, remember, they were going to experiment on Virginia Waters there."

"The Tyrant girl," Claire finished for him. She had almost completely forgotten about the whole presentation. It was true that the presenter had, indeed, revealed that. Suddenly, Claire's expression then darkened. "Is this how it works, Steve? Wesker tells you what to do and you listen?"

Steve sighed, basically turning away from her. "Wesker only sent me out to the facility, and I reunited with you, so how can you complain about me agreeing to that?"

Claire could give at least ten reasons, but instead said, "So, Sherry and I are just stuck back here while you two scamper around Rockfort?"

"It's not like you would want to go, too!"

"Well, duh!" she exclaimed. "But, that doesn't mean you have to be okay with going yourself!"

Suddenly, she felt very stupid for the whole thing. Since, apparently, Steve _didn't_ know about Rockfort (and Chris), she felt bad for not saying something earlier. But, she still didn't feel like telling him Chris might have been imprisoned there. It worried her that she was so suspicious of Steve all the time. But, what if he _was _on Wesker's side and just didn't know it yet?

At least Claire knew for certain that Wesker was planning on keeping this Chris thing all to himself. He wasn't going to tell Steve about it, and she decided she wasn't going to tell him either. If he accidentally said something back to Wesker then Claire's chances of finding a way to go along, too, were completely ruined.

After a long amount of silence, Claire asked, "Did he say when this _trip _was?"

Steve shook his head. "Just that it'd be unexpected."

"I can't believe you are talking like you are ready to go," she said, just to make it seem like she was still baffled. She was being a complete hypocrite for chiding Steve when she wanted to go herself, but she figured it was the principle of the whole thing. Steve was obeying Wesker's orders, after all. Claire just was plotting _against _him.

"I really don't want to fight about this," he admitted, standing up and going into the kitchen.

Claire narrowed her eyes when the boy left the room. She heard various dishes clanking about, and it sounded like he was getting some cereal. "Get me some, too, okay?" she yelled out.

Steve muttered something nasty under his breath, but Claire didn't care. She was too excited at the thought of reuniting with Chris, whether or not that meant Steve wanted to get away from Wesker as well.

xxxxx

Sherry had just finished kicking off her dress shoes and shutting the front door when she noticed Steve had fallen asleep on the sofa: bag of chips on his lap, soda can on the new coffee table and television blaring as it remained on but unwatched by the sleeping teenager. She almost wanted to laugh at the sight. He certainly was making himself at home, which was highly amusing considering he was also making no effort to appear otherwise. She was certain Wesker would've thought the very same had he seen the boy sleeping this way.

First thing first, Sherry needed to turn down that volume on the television set. She wasn't even sure how he _could _sleep with it so loud. Apparently, he had been watching some grind house movie, because within just a few seconds of glimpsing at the TV screen, all she saw was some blonde girl getting stabbed to death over and over by a rake. Actually, if Sherry wasn't mistaken, she was pretty sure the movie was _Eaten Alive_, which was sort of an ironic movie choice for Steve. Maybe he loved the gore in it, or something equally twisted.

The absence of Claire in the living room would have called for concern, but Sherry was fairly certain of two things: one, Claire would just not up and abandon Steve like this— (or, would she?—certainly, the Redfield might have never learned her lesson from abandoning Sherry, after all)—and two, there was no way Claire could have managed to escape the house. When Sherry had left for school in the morning, it had been raining, but even through the thick downpour, she spotted a black car parked across the street from the house, _obviously _filled with guards who were just waiting for Claire and Steve to attempt an escape. The car was still parked in the same area, and while it normally would have disturbed Sherry to know the house was being watched, she knew they weren't watching _her_. She wasn't planning on running away anytime soon, not when they would so blatantly be caught. There was no doubt in Sherry's mind that Claire was upstairs, either snooping through every nook and cranny in the house, or plotting an escape away from watching eyes.

Even though Sherry desperately needed to get started on her homework (after all, she still needed to makeup her work from her absence the day Claire arrived at The Agency facility), she decided to visit Claire first. When Sherry arrived at the top of the stairs, she immediately saw the light on in Claire's room, meaning the girl actually _wasn't _snooping, and instead, was simply in her room, possibly relaxing.

"Sherry!" Claire exclaimed when the girl appeared in the doorway. "Oh, _Jesus_, I thought maybe you were Wesker."

The Redfield was sitting on the ground, leaning up against her bed. She was about to stand, but stopped when she saw Sherry walking over to her. The blonde was still holding her school bag, which looked pretty packed with books and papers. She placed it down to her left as she found a seat next to Claire on the floor.

"Wesker doesn't really have a solid schedule," Sherry explained. "Sometimes he comes home at 5 o'clock, other times, at midnight, other times, not at all. So, I wouldn't be waiting on my toes all day long, if I were you."

Claire shrugged. "I've been kind of on-edge all day," she admitted. "I noticed the car outside, and since then, I've been convinced Wesker has cameras all over the house, or something. None of it seems to bother Steve, though."

Apparently not, if the boy found himself comfortable enough to just collapse on the couch after stuffing himself with chips. "Well, he has a week's worth of experience over you," Sherry noted. "But, anyway, Claire, you took down an entire facility in Paris. A couple of guards outside the house can't possibly be a threat to you."

"I know…" Claire said, rather dejectedly.

Sherry rose an eyebrow. "So, _what then_?" She paused for a moment, then said, "Woah, wait, are you saying you _haven't _even attempted getting out of here? What's up with that?"

Claire narrowed her eyes, a gesture all too revealing for Sherry. "It's not what you're thinking," she quickly defended. "It's just…" She hesitated, unsure whether to tell Sherry about her recent discovery in Wesker's room.

She had to admit that while Sherry's strange attachment to Wesker bothered her, Claire still trusted the girl a bit more than Steve. Unlike Steve, Sherry wasn't at risk of needing to choose sides business-wise. Sure, she did in other ways, but Sherry didn't have to "talk business" with Wesker, and Claire doubted Wesker ever discussed Agency information with her in the first place. Claire let out a sigh, stretching out her legs as she prepared herself to explain the situation to Sherry.

"I did some snooping earlier this morning," she began.

Sherry nodded. "I figured you would. Did you find your jacket in my room?"

"What jacket?" Claire asked, confused.

"Oh, um… I still have your leather jacket you gave me," she explained. "You know, the pink one. You can have it back if you want."

Claire smiled. "That's… sweet of you, Sherry. I had no idea you still had it, though. I didn't look in _your _room."

"Oh," Sherry said before figuring she should let Claire return to her original point. "So, what did you find?"

"I went in Wesker's room," Claire revealed, instantly gaining a reaction from Sherry.

"_His room_? He usually keeps it locked! Jesus, what'd you find?"

"There was a fax dated from yesterday," she said, "and it said that Chris might be imprisoned on Rockfort Island. I… I've been thinking about it all day, and I figured that he must have gone there because he thought I was caught by Umbrella and sent back to their prison."

Sherry took a moment to absorb the story, but she seemed a little lost. "So, is Wesker going to go there, too? Is that what you're saying?"

"Well, I _know _he's going to go there," she admitted. "When Steve and I snuck into that Umbrella presentation, they unveiled this new project, and they explained how they were going to run trail tests on Rockfort. I think Wesker is after combat data for the new project, so not only will he be infiltrating the island for that, but now, with Chris there, too, Wesker will just have another reason."

"I have a feeling you haven't shared any of this with Steve. Why's that?"

Claire ran a hand through her bangs. "Well, at first I thought he might have known about this already and was hiding it from me, but today, he got a call from Wesker, who informed him about the trip. It's supposed to be 'unexpected,' so there's no solid date on when they might leave—"

"_They_," Sherry interrupted. "Oh, I see where this is going. Wesker is going to make Steve come with him, and you're wondering where that leaves you in the whole situation."

"Bingo," Claire said. God, Sherry wasbright. It made Claire glad she was confiding in her. At least now she knew she wasn't just talking to a brick wall and might even receive some advice from the girl. "I need to find a way to go with them, but I'm completely out of ideas on how to make that work. There's _no way _I can ever get on Wesker's good side. He's too suspicious of me, just like I'm too suspicious of him."

"But… Wesker doesn't know _you know _about Chris. So, you can't let him know. And, that's also why you haven't told Steve, right? He might accidentally say something."

"Bingo, again."

"Hmm," Sherry mused. "Is your big idea to _find _a way to go to Rockfort with them?"

"Well, right now it is," Claire replied. She put a hand to her head, sighing. "I haven't been able to think straight since getting here. It's like I _can't _anymore. It took me forever to gain the courage to even pick up the phone here and see if it would dial outside numbers. I'm so fucking messed up right now, Sherry, and it's so unlike me."

"Yeah, Wesker programmed the phones here to only accept calls to and from The Agency facility," Sherry stated. "But, Claire, I wouldn't worry too much about how you're feeling. I mean, I think it's natural. This has all happened to you in—what, just a matter of days?—and it's easy to become so distracted by your emotions that you stop acting logically."

"I guess that makes sense. But, still, I just wish I could _think straight_ and stop feeling so stupid." Claire smiled briefly, extending her arm and wrapping it around Sherry's shoulders. "God, Sherry, you're a life saver, I swear."

Sherry furrowed her brow. "Huh…?"

"Just… _thank you_ for listening, Sherry. It's nice to know you're not completely on Wesker's side."

The girl rolled her eyes, but decided to ignore that comment. After all, they were having a nice, little moment here. It would be a shame to ruin it by fighting, even if Claire _had _made that rude statement. "Well, I'm not going to help you plot against Wesker," she blurted out. "And, I'm not going to help Wesker plot against you. I'm staying out of this one." She stood up, straightening her skirt and grabbing her school bag.

"Wait, Sherry—!" Claire exclaimed, reaching out. "I… I need to ask you something."

"…Okay," the girl agreed, a little thrown off by Claire's abrupt behavior.

"I need to know…" She trailed off, having to clear her throat before she could continue. "If Steve and I were to find a way out—a way to get _away _from Wesker, where we could find my brother and the others and be safe—would you… would you come with us? Or, would you stay here, with _him_?"

"Claire," Sherry started, her tone filled with frustration, "you know how I feel about this whole 'choosing sides' thing. It's _childish_, really, and as far as I'm concerned, Wesker really hasn't done anything directly _towards me _that qualifies me to betray him."

"I see…" Claire concluded, narrowing her eyes. "I guess I'll leave it at that."

Sherry turned to leave, exiting Claire's room and presumably resigning to her own. Claire figured she must have had homework, considering the size of her school bag. As if on cue, the Redfield heard a shuffled crinkling from downstairs, the obvious sound of Steve folding down the bag of chips. He must have been awake now, which Claire decided was actually a good thing. Even though they managed to eat breakfast together in a civil manner, there remained tension between the two as a result of Wesker's previous phone call. Claire still wasn't sure what the hell she was going to do about the whole Rockfort Island situation, but it was better to remain on good terms with Steve nevertheless. After all, Claire had a horrible gut feeling that the more they fought, the more Steve would be tempted to get along with Wesker.

Claire left her room and walked downstairs, finding Steve cleaning up the mess he made from his afternoon movie watch. He immediately shot her a glance when she stepped into the living room, but otherwise continued cleaning, practically ignoring her. Jesus, maybe Sherry was right; maybe this whole thing _was _childish. Here Claire was, standing right in front of Steve, and he was acting like she wasn't even here. He was giving her the silent treatment, something most people gave up when they graduated high school.

"Steve," she called out, revealing her obvious annoyance. "Look, I'm sorry about before, but you have to understand where I stand when it comes to anything involving you and Wesker and The Agency."

Steve rose an eyebrow. "Is that a sincere apology?" he asked.

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Jesus, Steve, don't act like I betrayed you just because I am edgy when it comes to this whole situation. It's like you refuse to see it from _my _point of view."

Steve frowned. "Yeah," he said, his tone flattening out and going back to normal. "I guess I have been doing that. But, sometimes I honestly feel like I have no choice but to follow Wesker's orders."

"For the longest time," Claire began, taking a seat on the couch, "Chris refused to believe the extent of what Wesker had done. Jill told me about it after we all met up in Europe again. Remember how I said Wesker used to be the captain of S.T.A.R.S., the organization Chris worked for?"

Steve nodded.

"Well, after they all discovered Wesker was secretly working for Umbrella and that S.T.A.R.S. was basically just their puppet, Chris had a really hard time believing any of it. Jill told me that Chris admired Wesker _a lot_, and his betrayal honestly hurt Chris. Even though Chris _knew _Wesker was evil, he just… wouldn't believe it. And, sometimes, he would stand up for him, as if there was a justified reason to defend his supposed honor."

"Why are you telling me this?" Steve asked, a bit confused.

"Because your situation reminds me of Chris' a little. I mean, the circumstances are completely different, but I guess the grounding of it is sort of similar. Like, Wesker basically saved your life, and in many ways, he _took you in_. So, it's not crazy to think that maybe you think he has some good in him, that maybe his side is worth fighting for and _being on_, too." She put a hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry if this sounds really stupid, Steve. Please, tell me if it does, and I'll just stop talking."

"No," Steve said, shaking his head, "I don't think it sounds stupid at all. I think it's… _sweet_ that you'd even take the time to consider things from my side. I guess I should be doing the same for you. I'm… sorry. Seriously, too."

Claire felt like maybe she should give the boy a hug or something. It certainly seemed like the right thing to do, but she knew she'd look back on it as being incredibly cheesy. As if some physical force wanted to play on the aura around them, Claire's hand suddenly began to sting, and it was only then that she was reminded, yet again, of the wound Steve inflicted on her before.

"What do you think it's going to be like, Steve, to go back to Rockfort Island?" she asked, her thoughts shifting back to The Agency's latest "mission."

He took a seat back on the couch beside her, pursing his lips and giving a thoughtful look. "Remember what that guy said at the presentation, about how they've been doing construction on the island to get rid of all the Ashford architecture? Well, it's kind of got me wondering whether the island even _looks _the same."

Claire nodded. "Yeah, you have to wonder what kind of twisted laboratories and battlefields they have setup so they can run tests on that poor Virginia woman." She made a disgusted face as she then said, "God, I can't believe they imprisoned her family just so they could run tests on them, too. It's so _sick_."

"I know," Steve agreed. "It's a little weird, though, when you think about it, because she's infected with the T-Veronica, just like I am. It's almost like… we're related, or connected, or something."

"I thought about that, too," Claire confessed. "I was also thinking about what could have possibly happened at the facility in Toronto after we left. You know, after they found the body of that guy all burnt up and stuff. They must know they had a spy."

"Wesker was telling me that they'll probably end up going through the entire list of attendees and clearing whether they were actually there by personally interviewing each of them. He said that my alias will be fine, because although the I.D. he made me was designed to be real, it was also rigged not to show up in their computer system, so there's no evidence a man named Martin Kramer—that was my alias—was ever there."

"I wonder what that means for me then," Claire mused, biting her lower lip. "Chris and Jill just faked an I.D. using the name and employee number of a real woman who worked for Umbrella. Shit… that probably means something will end up happening to the real Carly Mesh…"

Steve gave a considerate look. "Not much we can do to help there," he offered, intending for his comment to be comforting, although Claire thought otherwise.

Now that they were pretty much out of any other possible meaningful conversation, Claire considered bringing up the possibility of her going to Rockfort Island, too. But, she couldn't think of any particular way to bring it up without sounding suspicious. Sure, they had just been on the topic of Rockfort, but it wasn't anything too in-depth, and Claire didn't want to start an argument just for the sake of bringing it up again.

_I guess I'll just have to let it go for now, _she decided.

After all, there would always be another opportunity.

xxxxx

Steve figured there were a variety of moments in his life that qualified as completely outrageous and unbelievable. Off the top of the head, he considered reawakening as a Tyrant was the pinnacle of them all, but being imprisoned on Rockfort Island for something he had no part of, and later, being trapped in the zombie-infested environment were also pretty fucked up experiences. Living with Albert Wesker was pretty damn strange in and of itself, but Steve had no idea what to feel concerning his very current situation. Even more, he had no idea how _Claire _felt, because surely, it was more surreal to her than it was to him. Because, at the moment, Claire, Sherry, Wesker and himself were all sitting around the dinner table. Eating. In complete silence. Like a fucking family.

It was really sort of amusing at first, starting off with Sherry's declaration she was going to help Wesker cook. Of course, this had pissed off Claire, who had stomped off to her bedroom, and moments later, tried to pry open her window and climb out. Wesker heard her from downstairs (apparently, she wasn't very discrete when it came to making noise), and promptly pried _her _away from the window just before locking her in the bathroom for the remainder of his time cooking with Sherry. Steve considered busting open the door for Claire, but she was already pounding away at it, basically having a meltdown. Besides, Steve knew that if he were to release Claire from her temporary prison, all she would do was try to get back at Wesker, which, of course, would lead to her getting hurt again. It was all very cinematic, but Steve was grateful it was over.

So, as Wesker and Sherry finished concocting their sweet and sour chicken with rice and vegetables, Claire was eventually let out of the bathroom, and she swore up and down she would never speak to Steve again for allowing her to stay locked up in there. Five minutes went by before she broke and harshly inquired how Steve could even dare to sit down at the same table with Wesker as the boy ate his supper. Steve had just shrugged, and reluctantly, Claire took a seat next to him at the table.

"Well, if I do say so myself, this meal is really good," Sherry noted after taking a sip of her water.

"It is pretty decent," Steve admitted. "I mean, for something made by a thirteen year old and some evil scientist dude."

"I do believe I asked of you before, Steven, to not call me _dude_," Wesker reminded him blandly.

"Well, then, don't call me Steven!"

"You never told me not to before."

"Well, I'm telling you now!"

"All right, then."

Claire rolled her eyes, taking a violent bite of the chicken from her fork. Steve noticed this and looked at her worriedly, but the Redfield decided to ignore it, keeping her eyes down on the table.

"Claire," Sherry said, "you know, it's not really good manners to have your elbows on the table." The girl's gibe sounded harmless, but Claire caught the hostility in it.

It bothered Claire to know that just a few hours ago, when the two had managed to have a meaningful conversation in her room, Sherry was polite and friendly and even _helpful_, but now—_now _that Wesker was suddenly present—she seemed to morph into an entirely different person. It was as if she was purposely acting one way in front of Wesker and another way in front of Steve and Claire. Claire desperately wanted to say something snippy back, but she knew it was better to watch her mouth; after all, Sherry was the only one who knew Claire's full plans involving Rockfort Island. If she turned on Sherry, Sherry could easily turn on her in return and reveal everything straight to Wesker. Goddamn, she hated this entire situation.

The Redfield sighed, placing down her fork. "It's good, Sherry," she ended up saying. "The food, I mean. It's very tasty."

"Why, thank you, Claire," Wesker said, purposely using that _snide _little tone of his.

Claire shot a glare at him. "But, I think I am full now," she continued. "I am going to excuse myself." She stood up, placing her napkin on her plate after she wiped her mouth.

"Ah, that's good then," Wesker replied. "Steven and I have Agency business to discuss anyway."

Claire stopped in her tracks, shooting another glare over her shoulder.

"We do—?" Steve asked, before cutting himself off and then glaring at the man. "Hey! I said not to call me by my full name!"

"Never mind that," Wesker dismissed. "We need to discuss Rockfort Island."

Claire continued to walk away, pretending not to be interested in the topic. She was, however, surprised Wesker had dared to mention it at all. It was obvious that Steve would tell Claire about the trip even if Wesker had just informed Steve about it on the phone, but his willingness to openly discuss it in her presence almost made her suspicious. Was he digging for a reaction from her? Or, was it that he wanted to taunt her about Steve's supposed newfound "loyalty" to The Agency? One thing was for certain, he definitely was _not_ going to mention Chris, and that worried her most of all. He had something up his sleeve in that department, and Claire just couldn't figure it out.

"That Virginia woman was sent to Rockfort last night," Wesker revealed as Claire began walking up the stairs. "Tests are scheduled to start tomorrow. I think it's best we give them a week to run trials before infiltrating the island to take the combat data."

Claire gritted her teeth, making it to the top of the stairs. She could have sworn she heard Sherry heave a sigh, possibly annoyed with the conversation. Seconds later, the Redfield heard someone collecting dishes and bringing them over to the sink. It was obviously Sherry doing the work, because over the sound of gushing water, Claire could hear Steve and Wesker talking, their voices mostly drowned out. There was no use eavesdropping, though. Claire knew Wesker (and maybe Steve, too) could feel her lingering presence. But, she still wanted to know what they were saying, and she just hoped Steve would be willing to share a little later, even if they were, once again, not on the best of terms.

God, the entire thing was just so frustrating: constantly fighting with Steve, never trusting a single person and then being _forced _to put up with everyone just for the sake of, well, _survival_. Claire honestly felt like she was going insane.

Giving up on eavesdropping, Claire returned to her room and changed into some proper night attire. She just finished tying her hair into a ponytail when she heard the door to her room shut. Immediately, she turned on her heel, ready to defend herself in instant fear Wesker was the culprit. Instead, Sherry was standing there, looking a bit startled by Claire's nervous reaction.

"Sorry," Claire apologized, turning back around to redo her ponytail.

"Thanks for being _somewhat_ civil during dinner," she acknowledged, but her tone still revealed partial disrespect for Claire. "I mean, I know it must have been odd, eating dinner with Albert Wesker."

Claire shrugged. "Living with him still tops all," she noted.

"So, I take it you still haven't decided what to do about Rockfort Island and Chris and all that mumbo jumbo?"

She nodded, letting her shoulders sag as she took a seat on her bed. "Something is just so fishy about the whole thing," she explained to Sherry.

"I probably shouldn't tell you this, but…" Sherry looked down at the floor, unsure how to phrase her statement. "Wesker sort of mentioned something about tomorrow."

"_Huh_?" Claire gaped. "What _about _tomorrow?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, told me not to worry if you weren't here when I got back from school tomorrow," she revealed, sounding a bit puzzled herself. "I don't know exactly what that meant, but I think he might be taking you to the facility tomorrow."

Claire faltered as she laughed in disbelief. "What!" she exclaimed. "Why would he want me there?"

"Well, he's not going to kill you or anything," Sherry said. "I mean, that's _my guess_, but I'm pretty sure I'm right. Like I said before, he really has no reason to kill you."

"_Yet_," Claire added.

Sherry ignored that, and said, "I just wanted to warn you."

"Thanks…" she said, nodding.

Sherry left the girl's room, leaving the door open behind her. Claire decided to dig for more answers concerning this whole thing, so she left her room, too, trotting back down the stairs where Steve and Wesker still sat at the table. Steve looked up first, seeming a bit thrown off by her return, but Wesker didn't even bother to glance her way, instead, just taking a sip of his water, bemused.

"What the hell is all this about not being here tomorrow when Sherry comes home?" Claire blurted out.

_So much for being subtle, _she thought vaguely. She hadn't really intended to be so forward.

"Ah, so Sherry told you," Wesker said, rising from his seat. "I'm glad. That gives you the opportunity to do some reading tonight, thus saving us time tomorrow morning."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded.

Quickly, she glanced over to Steve, who had his head down, as if he was deeply ashamed of something. Did he… did he _know _something? She was just about to ask when Wesker pushed by her, reaching for his briefcase resting on the couch. He entered a combination to unlock it, taking out a large stack of folders. Before Claire had a chance to say anything, he shoved them into her chest, his way of handing them over.

Claire grunted, his impact much harder than what was normal. She managed to gather the papers in her hands, staring at the first file that read "_T-Veronica, Document A30._" She bit her lip, admittedly curious, but instead of showing this, she glared back up at Wesker.

"Care to explain?" she asked.

"I want you to read those, Claire," Wesker said. "I know you're curious. After all, didn't you and your brother send a majority of your time in Ottawa scraping for information here and there?"

"Ottawa…" Claire echoed. "How did you know…?"

"Your brother is being quite careless, at the moment." Wesker smiled cruelly and closed the briefcase. "It seems that your disappearance has him—oh, and Jill and Leon—quite frustrated, and they've apparently forgotten how to properly keep away from the public eye."

"Well, now that you know where they are, what are you going to do about it?" she barked, readjusting the files in her arms. Behind her, she felt Steve stir uncomfortably.

"Absolutely nothing," he replied. "At this point, it's much more fun to watch him try and find me rather than the other way around, don't you think?"

"Fuck you…" she seethed, inhaling deeply as she tried to control her emotions.

"Well, I hope you enjoy your readings tonight, Claire." He walked by her again, this time to clean up his dinner dishes. "I don't want to ruin the surprise of tomorrow, but I'll warn you, reading those files _will _benefit you."

Claire looked at Steve again, whose head remained down in his sullen pout. It was obvious he just learned about all this information minutes before Claire decided to come back downstairs, but there was obviously something Wesker still wasn't telling her. And, whatever that something was, Steve knew.

_So, this is how it's going to be, then_, Claire thought. _Well, fine, I'm not even going to dignify it with a reaction. _

Readjusting the position of the files in her arms once again, Claire turned away from the two and walked back upstairs. Sherry was washing up in the bathroom, and although the Redfield would have liked to wish the girl a pleasant sleep, it was more important for Claire to get away from everyone and retire to her bedroom. When she entered, she threw the files onto her bed, walking back to the door and slamming it shut. There was no lock, but she doubted Steve even had the courage to bother her once he decided to come upstairs himself.

Reluctantly, Claire stared at the files spread out across her bed, wondering where to start and exactly just how long it was going to take to get through each and every one.

**End of Chapter Nine**


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten:**

**Good Luck Trying To Be Someone Else**

xxxxx

Having rolled into bed at 3 a.m. last night, Claire was not too thrilled when Steve stormed into her room three hours later and announced it was time to wake up so they could catch the bus to Disney World. Maybe he was trying to be ironic, but Claire actually found his joke rather cruel, given the situation they were in _and _the location she knew they were headed to as well. She ended up throwing her bed sheets over her head, muttering curses as Steve left her room to properly dress himself for the day. When she didn't get up after he was done, he submitted to pouring a cold glass of water on her, startling her as if she had been _thrown _into a bathtub. Although his tactic was successful in getting her out of bed, it wasn't successful in getting her ready for the day; instead, she jumped out of bed, punched Steve in the face, and literally, kicked him out of her room. It took her exactly forty-five minutes to steam off before managing to change in day clothes and agree to leave the house with Wesker and Steve.

Now, looking back, Claire was deeply embarrassed, not only by what Steve had done, but also, by her behavior. She figured that _maybe _the whole thing would be funny two years from now.

"Care to explain what the_ fuck_ we are doing here?" Claire asked harshly, folding her arms. She was sitting (rather _impatiently_) next to Steve outside one of the many labs in The Agency facility, terribly agitated and just plain frustrated.

"That's the fifth time you asked," Steve stated, sighing.

"Well, it's the first time I've asked _you_," she pointed out.

"I don't know," he said quickly. "And, _seriously_, Claire, I don't."

"You better be telling the truth, Steve, or I swear to God…"

"Why would I _lie _about something like—?"

"Redfield?" a voice interrupted.

Both Claire and Steve looked up, seeing a brunette woman standing in front of them, dressed in a white lab coat and plain dress pants. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun, and she wore thin-framed glasses, appearing rather professional, as opposed to Wesker, who looked more suited for a combat zone than a laboratory, even if he _did _wear a lab coat. All Claire could do was gawk at her, waiting for the woman to address what she wanted instead of answering anything further. The woman stepped forward, flipping a page on her clipboard.

"I've been told to examine you," she stated, reaching out and offering her hand to Claire. "My name is Liane Gervais," she then said, her last name finally revealing a loose French accent.

"What do you want with Claire, Mrs. _Ger-vaaa_?" Steve inquired, mocking the way she spoke.

"_Dr. _Gervais," she corrected. "And, Steven,"—she looked down at her clipboard quickly, reading off the boy's name from a file she had—"all I intend to do is give Claire a physical, of the sort."

"Physical…" Claire echoed, raising an eyebrow. "I don't like the sound of that."

"It's nothing to worry about," Dr. Gervais said. "I promise I won't harm you in any way. All I need is to check your weight, heart rate and reflexes."

"I came all the way from Wesker's crap shack to get a damn physical?" Claire grinded out, finally standing up from her seat. "Aren't these things he could've checked himself?"

"Uh, you really want Wesker _touching _you and shit?" Steve inquired. "And, please, don't answer that if your response is anything but _no_."

Claire thought this over for a second. Steve was definitely right: the idea of _Wesker _giving her a physical was enough to send shivers down her body. Ugh, maybe this was the lesser of two evils. Although, truthfully, a physical wasn't that bad. In fact, Claire was pretty used to them. Throughout high school and her first year in college, it was mandatory to have an updated physical, especially if a student was involved in sports. But, there was a lot more to a physical than being weighed and tapped on the knee with one of those shiny metal tools. She'd probably have to piss in a cup, and since Steve had previously complained about being prodded with needles all the time, she suspected a blood sample would be taken, too. _That_ was where her suspicions continued to grow. Who knew what the hell The Agency would do with her blood, or even what tests they intended to do with it!

Claire glanced over at Steve, and all he could do was shrug in the most unhelpful way possible. "I think Sherry's been in for physicals," he offered, "and she hasn't been morphed into a monster, so who knows? This might actually be completely innocent."

"I'm holding you to that," Claire said unevenly, following Dr. Gervais as she walked into a nearby lab room. Inside, she took a seat on a stool, crossing her legs and slanting awkwardly.

"Arm," Dr. Gervais simply stated, hinting for Claire to roll up her long-sleeved sweater. Instead of preparing a needle and vial like the Redfield suspected she would, the woman only wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her upper-arm, attaching it by the Velcro end and routinely pumping it tight as she fiddled with the stethoscope. After a moment, she nodded and said, "Excellent blood pressure."

Claire smiled dumbly. "Thanks, I work really hard on it," she snarked.

As if being punished for her comment, Claire felt the woman rip off the cuff and begin roughly patting her mid-arm, waiting for the girl's vein to adjust. Claire then cringed as Dr. Gervais prepared the plastic hub and vacuum tube onto the needle. She didn't dare look when the terribly thin piece of metal was finally pierced her vein. Just when Claire thought it was over, however, the tubes were switched, and her vein sadly gave up a whole other 25mls of blood. Jesus Christ, what the hell _were _they going to test for anyway?

"Oh, _man_, this is fucking _epic_!" Steve suddenly roared from the hallway. Claire jolted, immediately assuming he was standing in the doorway, watching and laughing at her expense. He wasn't standing there, though, and Claire was only left to continue overhearing his mysterious excitement. "Who knew she had it in her? Oh, man! This is gold! Pure and utter gold!" he continued.

"Settle down," a voice chided, obviously belonging to Wesker.

_Great_, Claire thought, _now he's here to monitor my goddamn physical._

This was a completely self-absorbed thought, of course, given that she knew whatever they were discussing had nothing to do with her at the moment. It definitely wasn't Agency-related either, because even though Steve was doing a lousy job supporting the right side, he would never use that hysterically amused tone over anything involving his so-called "work."

So perplexed by what was going on, Claire barely noticed when the needle left her arm, and Dr. Gervais walked to the opposite side of the room to jot notes down on her clipboard. Just then, Wesker entered the room, lab coat on and sunglasses off. He looked strangely professional, even with those abnormal cat eyes of his.

"I have a proposition for you," he announced, approaching Claire.

The Redfield just glared at him, rubbing her suddenly sore arm.

"Sherry was in at fight at school, and it—"

"She _what_?" Claire shouted, jumping from the stool. "Oh, my God! Is she okay? What happened? _Oh, God_!"

Wesker's brow lowered, displaying his annoyance in her behavior. "She's fine," he said plainly. "Now, being that I am her guardian, they called me, and I've been asked to come in for a meeting."

Steve suddenly appeared in the room. "Isn't that just _golden_? Like he's her fucking dad! Can you just imagine him, _Albert Wesker_, going into a middle school and sitting in the principal's office as Sherry is lectured about fighting? Oh, God!" Steve ended his explosion of amusement by gripping his sides, continuing to laugh at the sheer irony of it all.

Claire's worried expression faltered, unable to believe Steve's immaturity. She shook her head and curled her lower lip before asking, "What happened?" She looked at Wesker steadily, knowing she had to stay calm if she wanted answers.

"They didn't say specifically," he admitted, "however, it happened during passing periods. The girl Sherry was fighting was sent to the hospital for a broken nose."

"_What_?" Steve and Claire cried in unison.

Claire left her mouth wide open, gaping in disbelief. "Oh, Sherry…" she muttered, sighing.

"Good for her!" Steve repeated. "I mean, _fuck_, she always has this attitude about her, and I always thought she'd never do anything with it. Gotta hand it to her."

She shot him a glare. "This isn't _funny_, Steve," she remarked. "Sherry could be in serious trouble."

"I doubt it," Wesker chimed in, crossing his arms. "She's thirteen; kids do this kind of stuff. She'll just be lectured about it, told to go home for the day, and no one will care tomorrow."

"Except the girl whose nose Sherry smashed in!"

Dr. Gervais approached the three, holding a small plastic cup. "I need to continue Miss Redfield's physical," she said slowly, eyeing Wesker to hint for both Steve and him to leave the room.

Claire grabbed the cup from the doctor's hand, her face flushing in embarrassment. "Okay, yeah, that's fine, but what's this proposition you speak of?" she asked, avoiding eye contact. There was something very unpleasant about the man knowing she was going to piss in a cup in just a few minutes.

"I'll tell you after you're done," he insisted blandly.

Claire's complexion brightened even more, causing her to grumble beneath her breath as she walked away towards the back of the lab with Dr. Gervais. The woman guided her into the small bathroom and closed the door for Claire once she entered. For a _bathroom _it sure was complicated, though; the walls were a mint green color that was covered in a hazmat-labeled glass, and everything was automatic, thus dismissing the need for an individual to touch any object.

In the privacy of the small enclosure, the situation became less embarrassing, but it was still unsettling that Steve and Wesker were out there, knowing she was crouching over like a retard and trying to aim into the cup correctly. Fuck, men sure had it easier.

When Claire was finished, she screwed the lid back onto the cup and washed her hands. Back in the lab, Wesker was showing Steve something, which, from Claire's location, appeared to be a small, laminated card. She had no time to question it, however, for Dr. Gervais took the cup and subsequently directed Claire toward the scale to weigh her.

"120 pounds," the woman noted, writing it on the clipboard.

"120?" Claire repeated. "Fuck, I gained weight."

Dr. Gervais looked up to the girl, who remained on the scale. "When was the last time you were weighed?" she wondered.

"My last physical at school…" she said. "I was 115 pounds back then."

"You've been more energetic since then, haven't you?" she theorized. "I am guessing it is muscle, not fat, Miss Redfield. You can relax."

Claire rolled her eyes, not believing that one bit. In the last few months she had been anything _but _energetic. Lying around and studying Umbrella files wasn't exercise, and since being kidnapped by Wesker, she obviously hadn't done anything physically exerting.

_Kidnapped? That doesn't really sound like the right word. You haven't done much to fucking try and escape._

Another roll of her eyes, and the Redfield stepped off the scale. "Are we done?" she asked.

Dr. Gervais nodded and looked at Wesker. "You can take her now."

Claire hesitantly walked over to Steve and the blonde man, eyeing the card Steve was still holding. "What's that?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, it's for you," Steve explained, handing over the card. "It's an I.D. card. Or, rather, a fake I.D. card."

Eyebrow remaining raised, Claire examined it, seeing that while her picture was used on the card, her name certainly was not. "Amanda Birkin? What the hell?" Before she had a chance to figure anything out, she took another look at the photo on the I.D., realizing exactly where it came from. "Woah, _wait_, what gives you the right to use my Rockfort picture?"

Steve frowned. "He did the same for me when he made my fake Umbrella I.D.," the boy grumbled.

"Aren't you going to ask what it's for?"

Claire slowly rose her gaze to Wesker's. "Well, this obviously has something to do with Sherry being in trouble. What, do you want me to pose as her mother, or something?"

"No, her sister," Wesker said quickly, his tone almost catty. "I have work to do here, and they want her guardian to come in, so being that you're over eighteen, you'll do just fine as a substitute."

"She's _your _responsibility," Claire countered, glaring at the man cruelly. "You just said it—you're her _guardian_, basically her _father_—and you can't find time out of your schedule to go to her school when something goes wrong?"

"I'm _not_ her father," Wesker replied, glaring back at the girl. "I thought, if anything, you'd be grateful for the opportunity. Sherry's opinion of you has certainly lowered since your arrival here. This is a wonderful chance to revive your relationship."

"That's fucking low, even for you," Claire spat out, shoving the I.D. into her pocket. "I'll do this, but only because _I do _care for Sherry, unlike you," she finished, crossing her arms, as if gesturing for this proposition to get a move on.

"Wonderful, then," he announced, smirking. "Steven will go with you. But, I warn you, any attempts to use this as your opportunity for a getaway will only result in failure."

Claire's expression fell as she sucked in her lower lip, briefly eyeing Steve, who remained emotionless.

"I've already arranged for a driver to take you there, so head up to the main entrance," Wesker stated. "Oh, and Steve, put your contacts in on the way."

"O-Okay…" he slowly replied, turning to Claire afterwards. "Ready to go?"

Claire shrugged, following the boy outside the labs and towards the elevator.

"This is goddamn ridiculous," the girl seethed. "Obviously Wesker needs a course or two on parenting."

Steve sighed. "Well, he _is right_—he's not her father. William Birkin was, and he's dead and gone."

"_Yeah_, and when Wesker took it upon himself to _kidnap _Sherry he assumed the role as her guardian!"

"Do you really expect him to be _fatherly_ towards her?"

Claire narrowed her eyes, seeing Steve's point. "Well, no," she admitted, "but you would think he'd take on _some _role, seeing as how he lets her live with him and attend school."

"What, are you admitting Sherry actually _does _have somewhat of a normal life?"

"Nothing is 'normal' when Wesker is involved!" Claire shouted as they arrived at the elevator. "But… sometimes I think about it, and I know that Wesker sort of provides a better life for her than…" Trailing off, the girl pursed her lips, afraid to say anything more.

"_Than_ who?" Steve wondered, pressing the call button.

"Than everyone…" she murmured. "Her parents were neglectful and barely gave her any attention, and while I know Wesker does the same, at least he's _home _regularly. And, when I really start to think about it, I know Chris and Leon and I would've failed as well. We never could've had enrolled her in school without Umbrella finding her, and even if we could, there was no way we could've ever receive legal custody of her. She would've ended up in some foster home if the government found out we had her."

"Oh…" Steve said as the elevator arrived. "Sherry doesn't really complain about her situation…"

"Don't remind me," Claire sighed out. She ran a hand through her hair, keeping her arms crossed as she did so.

The two entered the elevator, walking towards the back where they could be alone. There were several employees riding to the upper-levels as well, but they were immersed in their own conversations, too busy to question the new presence of Steve and Claire. Steve was actually grateful for this, because with Claire so visibly upset at the moment, it almost made him want to comfort her somehow. But, given their rocky interactions in the last couple of days, he wasn't sure how she was going to react to such a thing. Then again, did it really matter? If she pushed him away (figuratively and literally) it wouldn't be much different from their verbal spats all morning.

When Claire leaned against the elevator's wall, having fallen in deep thought, Steve scooted himself closer, feeling both awkward and decidedly dorky. It felt like one of those cliché scenes from a chick flick, where the man was "casually" stretching his arm out behind his date at the movie theater. Almost immediately, Claire took notice of Steve's new proximity, and the boy cursed himself for thinking Claire would ever be that easy to make a move on in such a formulaic manner.

However, instead of moving aside or insulting Steve's motives, the girl took it upon herself to press up against him, burying her face into his neck and letting out a stressful sigh. Steve practically melted into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her and smiling to himself. How long had it been since they had a moment like this? God, it felt like eternity, and Steve wanted nothing more for it to last longer than some stupid elevator ride.

xxxxx

Claire decided Sherry's school looked more like a goddamn college than a measly middle school. In fact, she hadn't even believed they arrived at the correct location when the driver initially parked in front of the building. It certainly lived up to every assumption made about private schools, however, especially given the pompous name: Palmer Memorial Academy Middle School. Since when were schools also academies? It was no wonder Sherry ended up in a fight with one of her classmates. Everyone who attended this district was obviously a pompous asshole.

"Per the order of Mr. Wesker, you two may go in alone, but I shall be waiting in the car when the meeting is over," the driver informed Claire and Steve, turning slightly in the front seat to address them properly.

Claire took a deep breath, nodding. Steve climbed out of the backseat first, offering a hand to Claire to help her out afterwards. Just the brief physical contact allowed him to feel the stiffness in her body, and he realized Claire must have been insanely nervous about the whole thing. He frowned as he closed the car door, catching up to the girl, who had already begun walking towards the main entrance.

"Claire…" he voiced carefully, keeping his frown evident. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just worried," she answered, pushing through the front doors and entering the building.

It appeared much more typical inside the school than outside. There was nothing too fancy about the surroundings, although the trophy case in the main corridor was proof enough that academics were not the school's only focus.

"I assume we just go to the front office," Claire eventually said, seeing the office to the left of the trophy case. She entered, approaching the front desk, where a gray-haired secretary was busy filing paperwork. "Excuse me," the Redfield said, "I'm… I'm here for Sherry Birkin. I was called in about… a fight she had?" Her last sentence came out in a stutter, and the girl automatically turned red, embarrassed by her demeanor.

The secretary looked at Claire up and down. "Are you her guardian?" she asked, raising an eyebrow beneath her red-framed glasses.

"Um, no, actually," she said, pursing her lips. "I'm her sister…"

"We called in her guardian," the lady said, walking over to her desk and picking up a file. She flipped open the manila folder, and continued, saying, "Albert Wesker was who we spoke to on the phone."

"Oh, yes… He's our guardian." Claire's tone lowered, and she decided to rephrase herself, by saying, "Albert is our guardian, yes." Obviously using the man's first name was far from normal for Claire, but she thought she did a decent job speaking casually.

"May I see a driver's license, or I.D., ma'am?"

"O-Of course!" Claire agreed, digging into her pocket, where the faux I.D. card remained. She handed it to the lady, who only looked at it for a couple of seconds before returning it to Claire.

"Sherry is in the principal's office in back," the woman informed, gesturing behind the counter, where a hallway was located. "It's the last door on the right."

Claire nodded her thank you before turning to Steve. "You should wait out here. They're going to wonder who you are."

"But, I want to know what happened! I want the gossip on the big brouhaha!"

"I'll fill you in, Steve," she promised, smiling slightly. "Besides, I think Sherry will be overwhelmed with you there."

Steve gave a glare, knowing this was true, given the Sherry's negative opinion of him. Sometimes he really hated that girl… She was such a _kid_: nosy, intrusive and just an overall smartass. Actually, sometimes she reminded him too much of himself, and that's what was most bothersome of all. But, if that were true, why the hell did Wesker seem so tolerant of Sherry and not Steve? Maybe it was because Sherry had blonde hair, like Wesker. Fucking weirdos, the both of them.

Obliging to Claire's request, Steve took a seat in one of the empty chairs. Claire, meanwhile, had already disappeared into the hallway, finding the principal's door wide open with the man standing in front of the room. The secretary must have informed him someone had arrived.

"Ah, hello, Miss Birkin," he greeted, offering her hand.

Claire shook his hand respectfully, smiling. She peered behind the man, seeing Sherry sitting in a chair with her arms crossed. She looked rather pissed. When she felt Claire's gaze on her, the girl looked up and was instantly startled to see the woman present.

"Claire!" she exclaimed. "What are _you _doing here? Where's Wesker?"

There was almost distress in her voice, as if she was worried something had happened to the man. "He… he couldn't make it. He was busy."

Sherry frowned.

"Wesker?" the principal echoed as he closed the door and took a seat behind his desk. "Do you mean, Albert, your guardian?"

"Ahem, yes!" Claire interjected. "_Albert _couldn't make it, so he sent me." She took a seat next to Sherry, leaning directly towards the girl so could speak privately. "You know, _your sister_," she finished off in a whisper.

Sherry looked confused for a moment before realizing the situation. She gave an unimpressed look, as though she knew something Claire did not. There was no time to question it, though; Claire quickly refocused her attention on the principal, taking notice of the man's name—Gregory Vickers—on the small, metal nameplate. The name sounded vaguely familiar to her, and she suspected this man had some sort of political background in Canada, as most principals and super attendants did. Or, at least the ones who worked in private districts.

"So, may I be filled in on what exactly happened here?" Claire began, folding her hands in her lap.

"It happened during passing period. Your sister was walking to her math class when she engaged in a fight with a classmate, Samantha Slater."

Claire turned to Sherry, looking at her with concern. The girl avoided eye contact and distracted herself by staring at her schoolbag, which was lying on the floor.

"Samantha was taken to the hospital with a broken nose," the man went on, resting his arms on his desk. "Here at Palmer Memorial Academy, we pride ourselves in learning not only as individuals, but as a community as well."

"Um, okay," Claire said, furrowing her brow. That was such a principal thing to say. "What was the fight about?"

"Miss Birkin, I am well aware of Sherry's background," he suddenly said, his expression icing over. "I've been thoroughly informed by Albert Wesker, and being such, I've also been properly compensated to keep quiet about Sherry's attendance at our school."

Claire gaped. "You've _what_? That fucker paid you off? Jesus Christ!"

"Keep your voice down," he warned, his tone dropping. "We are a private school, and therefore not required to release our student information to the public without heavy permission from the district's front; however, Sherry is not under the Witness Protection Program, nor has Mr. Wesker made any efforts to change her name and identity."

"…I'm aware of this," Claire choked out, glancing over at Sherry, whose head remained down.

"What I'm saying, _Miss Redfield_, is that her identity can and _may _be released by sheer accident. Being that I was so generously persuaded to remain silent, I have no intentions of letting certain people know Sherry's location. But, if she begins to act out of line and earn herself a negative reputation in this environment, her peers will talk. And, all it takes is one person's slip-up for her name to end up in the wrong conversation with the wrong person."

"I can't believe you're saying this to me!" Claire shouted. "If you're so _aware _of her situation and who I am, too, then why are you _allowing _Sherry to publicly get in trouble?"

"You misunderstand," the man explained calmly. "It is not _my job _to cover for Sherry, at least not completely. But, prior from today, Sherry has done an excellent job blending in and keeping herself distant from her peers so as not to risk her identity being released."

"So, you're saying that this fight risks her being _known_? That's ridiculous!" Claire stood up, glaring down at the man. "And, personally, I think _you're _the one who doesn't understand! Wesker may have custody of Sherry, but don't think for a second she would rather be with him than with people she actually cares about!"

Gregory Vickers stood up as well. "Sherry broke a girl's nose, Miss Redfield," he said blatantly. "In most cases I would suspend a student for that kind of conduct. But, Wesker and I have met an agreement regarding Sherry's attendance here, and it is my better judgment to allow her to continue, so long as she retains her previous pattern of obedience."

"Fuck that!" Claire backfired. "Both you and Wesker are denying Sherry any kind of normality! She has the right to make friends and interact with her peers! The fact you would accept a _bribe _from a despicable man proves your own lack of ethics!"

"Claire…" Sherry voiced softly, reaching for her schoolbag. "Please, calm down. He told me I could be dismissed for the day, so let's just _go now._"

The Redfield sighed, biting her lip and softening her expression at Sherry. Mr. Vickers walked out from behind his desk, opening the door for the two. Normally, it would have been a gentleman-like act, but Claire only saw it as an extension of his cunning behavior.

"Have a good afternoon," the man said as Claire walked by him.

"I hope you rot in hell," she spat, reaching for Sherry's hand so they could pick up the pace and get out of the school building as quickly as possible.

"Claire, you don't need to hold—"

"—dude, what's going on?" Steve interrupted as they approached the front of the office. Claire's expression must have revealed her displeasure.

"Fucking prick," the Redfield grumbled, keeping her grip on Sherry's hand as she stormed out of the office, not even acknowledging Steve.

"Claire!" Steve called out, racing after her.

When they exited the building, Claire released Sherry and continued to let out several high-pitched curses before Steve took hold of her shoulders, urging her to calm down.

"Tell me what happened," he said, reaching out and stroking a stray piece of her hair.

Sherry made a scoffing sound, not impressed by the affection he showed her.

"Wesker paid off the jerk," Claire started bitterly. "The principal here knows about Sherry's past, and Wesker _paid him off _so he wouldn't be persuaded by Umbrella if they ever dig for information in this area."

"It's really not that big a deal, Claire," Sherry spoke up. "It's not like I _want _to make friends here. Everyone is a jerk."

"What, so what was the fight about?" Steve questioned.

Claire blinked. "He never told me…" she said honestly.

"It was stupid," Sherry admitted with a shrug. "And, I mean _really _stupid. It's not even worth mentioning."

"But, I'mdying of curiosity!" Steve exclaimed.

Sherry rolled her eyes. "That girl, Samantha, thought I was moving in on her boyfriend, or something stupid like that. In science, I was paired with her boyfriend, and apparently, to her, that meant I had devious intentions with him. She picked a fight with me by pushing me into my locker, and I just sort of snapped and punched her in the face. I didn't mean to, but I lost my temper."

Both Claire and Steve gawked at her, but it was Steve who eventually said, "That's the dumbest thing I ever heard! God, Sherry, the least you could do is fight about something more scandalous!"

The girl glared at him. "I didn't _want _to fight in the first place. I don't care about her stupid boyfriend. She started it! And, what was I going to do, just _take it_?"

Claire managed to smile. "I know," she said, her smirk extending. "Middle school can be really fucked up. But, I'm sorry you got in trouble, Sherry."

"It's fine," she said with a shrug. "I was already aware of all this, though, Claire. You didn't have to flip out in front of him."

"I have to agree with Sherry," a voice said, prompting the three to turn in the direction it came from. There, in front of the car Claire and Steve had arrived in, stood Wesker. He was dressed much more casually now and even wore his sunglasses, which allowed him to look somewhat normal. "You have an awful temper, Claire," he continued, approaching them.

Claire recovered from the shock of his appearance, and quickly asked, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me he knew?" She glowered at him, anger rising. "And, why did you go through all that trouble making me the I.D.?"

"It was hardly any trouble at all," he assured smugly. "And, simply, when I was informed of the incident, no one told me whether it would be a meeting with Vickers, or if other staff members were to be present as well. Besides, Claire, the I.D. will come in handy in other situations, so keep it safe."

The Redfield frowned. "Vickers seemed weirded out that Sherry referred to you by your last name," she mentioned, seeming confused by it herself.

"Well," he reasoned, "I don't recall ever ordering you three to call me anything specific in the first place."

"So, I can call you fuckface?" Steve asked hopefully.

Sherry seemed interested in Wesker's words, perking up and saying, "I can call you Albert?"

"If that's what you'd like," Wesker answered nonchalantly.

"So, I can call you fuckface?" Steve repeated, still hopeful.

"You two can go home now," the man informed Steve and Claire. "I'm going to take Sherry back to the headquarters with me."

"_Why_?" Claire asked, suspicious.

"This school is no use to her," he told them. "I'm going to arrange for a personal tutor."

"All right," Sherry said, sounding completely apathetic to the change. "But, can I at least finish my week here?"

"Are you sure you don't want to stay home tomorrow?" Claire asked, cocking her head. "I mean, after today, it just seems like it might be best to take a day off."

"I'm fine," the girl assured. When Wesker began walking towards the car he arrived in, Sherry followed him, lugging her schoolbag along with her. "See you two later," she called out, waving goodbye to Steve and Claire.

Steve clicked his tongue, amused by it all. "Guess it's home for us then," he said to Claire.

"Something is very unsettling about this whole thing," Claire muttered, looking at Steve in hopes he would offer something back.

Steve began walking towards their own car, where the driver was beeping to catch their attention. "What, you mean about the principal situation, or Sherry being dragged off with Wesker just now?"

"Both…"

xxxxx

Even if Sherry was going to be withdrawn from Palmer Memorial Academy, she still had to finish up her last week of school, and in doing such, she had an essay due tomorrow concerning cultural theory. In some ways, Claire's suggestion of staying home was looking better and better. Sherry was typically very persistent in keeping up with her schoolwork, but the last week had been beyond stressful, and she had fallen behind in some of her daily routines, most notably when it came to essay writing.

_Ugh, _she thought bitterly, _I have about two more paragraphs to go before this thing is done_.

But, those two paragraphs were flowing terribly. She couldn't even formulate her sentences anymore. All she could think about was the fight at school, the fact Wesker had spontaneously suggested she call him "Albert," and how in just a matter of days, she would be beginning lessons with a private tutor, thus no longer attending an actual school. Everything seemed entirely fucked up, and she knew essay writing was _far _from the kind of therapy she needed.

Tiredly, she stared at the computer screen, reading over the last paragraph she had written:

_When determining the culture around an individual, it's important to consider how the family around he or she will affect self-determination. A contentious element in relation to cultural theory is the order in which one is born into a family. Often times, it is believed the first born is destined to become goal-orientated with high self-esteem; the middle born is often prone to depression and self-loathing; and, finally, the youngest is often thought to be rebellious and troublesome. Although children do not always fit these "roles," the different treatment to a select child virtually always affects the way that individual develops psychologically._

"Good enough," she decided, hitting the enter key so she could start a new paragraph.

Although Wesker—(_ahem, Albert_, she tried correcting herself)—was generally protective over the computer, the man was lenient enough to allow her usage for schoolwork. She figured he knew it was necessary and that his generosity was anything from actually being _nice_. Whatever the case, she was grateful. If she had to write the entire thing on paper, she'd go mad.

She continued on, summing up her final words on birth order as she typed:

_Unlike many attributes affecting the cultural theory, birth order happens to be viewed the same way in all communities, often times truly proving to have some simplistic relation to formation of the family._

She had just finished marking the end of the sentence with a lovely period when her entire view was flooded with darkness. Sherry jumped backwards in the chair, instantly horrified until she realized what was going on a moment later.

The fucking power had just gone out.

"_Goddammit—_oh, fuck!" Steve screeched from down the hall. Unfortunately, for him, he was taking a shower.

Sherry heard a few more curses, followed by a tumbling of toiletries and a clinging of the shower curtain before a final _thud_ that revealed he had fallen over the ledge in an attempt to escape the dark confines of the bathroom. She was amused long enough to forget she had lost her most recent paragraph in the essay, and so, she stood up from the chair and felt her way out of the lightless office.

"Claire?" she called out, unable to see if the girl was lurking in the hall to rush to Steve's aid.

"I can't see anything!" the Redfield cried from down the hall. "Is Steve okay?"

Sherry laughed beneath her breath. "I don't know," she managed to say, trying to sound concerned.

"Ugh, I'm fine," the boy whined from the bathroom. Although the door was still closed, his words (as well as the many swears he continued heaving) remained audible. "Where is that stupid fuck? Ask him why the _hell _the water stops when the power goes out! I mean, what the _fuck_, man?"

Sherry approached the bathroom door, crossing her arms as she said, "Don't be an idiot, Steve. I don't know what lame ass town you grew up in, but here our water isn't pumped through wells, it comes from pumping stations, which use electricity."

"I don't care!" he ranted on, finally emerging from the bathroom, fully dressed but hair wet and still soaked in shampoo. "Look at my hair! I never got to wash out the shampoo!"

"Stick your head in the toilet?" Sherry offered.

"I'll stick your head in the toilet, smartass," he countered lamely, walking by her and stomping down the stairs.

Claire followed timidly, tugging at her pajama bottoms that felt a little too short for her taste. Sherry felt there was no other choice but to follow as well. She couldn't very well work on her essay. At least she managed to hit save before starting her new paragraph. It was no big deal losing just one or two sentences, after all.

"Hey, assfuck!" Steve yelled, stomping through the living room.

Wesker was busy digging through the kitchen drawers, searching for candles. He ignored Steve's childish shout, but he was fully aware of why the boy was upset. He couldn't quite blame Steve either; he, too, would've been thoroughly pissed had he been in the shower. But, really, the whole ordeal was somewhat humorous, given the fact the soapy frizz remained in Steve's russet hair.

Only when Wesker realized Claire and Sherry had come down the stairs, too, did he decide to turn around and face the trio, raising an eyebrow curiously. "I'm well aware the power went out," he stated. "No need for an intervention."

"I was taking a shower!" Steve whined again.

"Jesus, we know," Sherry muttered, walking away from the kitchen and plopping down on the sofa. "Some of us have more important concerns at hand, like finishing essays."

"It probably won't be out for too long," Claire said, folding her arms as she followed Sherry to the couch.

Managing to find candles, Wesker removed the four sticks from the drawer and placed them in the holders. "It's not even windy out," he noted, "so I don't know what the problem is out there."

"You only have four candles?" Steve barked. "The almighty Albert Wesker appears to be an unprepared fool."

"Not everyone keeps a cabinet full of them," he replied, transferring the holders over to the dining room table. "Besides, _I _can see just fine."

"That's because you're a fucking freak." Steve took a seat the dining room table as he said this, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl in the process. "_I _can't see shit."

"I'll make note of that in your file, then," Wesker said, taking a seat as well. "I actually find that quite interesting. Remember the woman I showed you the day after you awoke?"

"The one in that lab? Yeah, what about her?"

"She cannot see in the dark either," he revealed. "I presume that is a side-effect from the G-Virus, not the T-Veronica. Since you have both in you, I suppose you received the G-Virus' effect there."

"Great, so I'm clinically retarded, is that what you're saying?" Steve took a bite of his apple, crunching loudly.

"Hardly," the man said, "but it does make your abilities somewhat limited."

From the couch, Claire gave a frustrated grunt, not wanting this conversation to go on while she was present. She stood up, ready to go back upstairs, but Sherry grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her back down.

"Don't be so anti-social," the girl chided.

"I'd rather be in my dark room than listen to _this_," Claire yakked.

"Well, what do you want to talk about, Claire?" Wesker wondered, cutting off his conversation with Steve.

"I don't want to talk to _you _about anything."

"Fine, then go to bed," Sherry said, rolling her eyes.

"Why don't _you _go to bed," Steve commented. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"I have to finish my essay, _Steven_."

"Sherry, you're free to stay home tomorrow, if you like," Wesker offered blandly, apparently in agreement with Claire's own suggestion early in the day.

Sherry hesitated for a moment, unsure what to say. "Oh… Well, maybe. I mean, who knows when the power will be back on?"

"Do what you like," the man maintained.

"Thanks… Albert…" Sherry said slowly, testing the man's first name again. It actually wasn't as awkward as she thought it would be; in fact, it instantly reminded her of when her father would refer to the man all those years ago.

Steve ended the short lived silence by taking another loud bite of his apple. After he swallowed, he obnoxiously asked, "So, Sherry, truth or dare?"

The girl furrowed her brow. "Huh?"

"Truth or dare?" he repeated.

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh, _no, no, no_—we're not playing that, Steve. Shut up now, please."

"_What_?" the boy argued. "Isn't there some kind of theological rule that when the power goes out you have to play a game?"

"No," Wesker insisted.

"Oh, you're just saying that because you'd rather play something perverted, like spin the bottle," Steve proclaimed with a full mouth.

"There's hardly anything perverted about spin the bottle," Wesker debated.

"So, you _are _admitting interest in the game!" Steve concluded.

Wesker just gave his regular poker face as his response, uninterested in Steve's immaturity.

Sherry lifted herself from the couch and took a seat at the table with Steve and Wesker. "Steve, both those games require social skills, something we're all lacking here."

"I'm pretty sure I have wonderful social skills with all three of you," Steve proudly stated. "Everyone else here needs to work on theirs."

Claire glared at him from the living room. "If that was directed at me, Steve, I swear to God—"

"See!" Steve announced. "You're being mean, and that's definite proof of your lack of social skills."

Claire began seething, approaching the boy as if she was ready to hurt him.

"Just relax, Redfield," Wesker intervened. "If you haven't figured out Steve's spontaneously immature behavior by now, there's no hope you two will succeed."

"Don't act like you understand him," Claire demanded, roughly sitting down at the last empty chair.

"Well, it's fair to say I understand him better than you," he disputed. "We're both Tyrants, and therefore, our connection is deeper than yours will ever be with him."

"Woah, okay, you don't know shit about me!" Steve yelled, his mood shifting immediately.

Claire was ready to say something herself, but Sherry managed to find words first: "If we're not talking about Agency garbage via Claire's request, I request that we're definitely not talking about _this _either."

"That leaves very little conversation choices," Wesker pointed out.

"_Fine_!" Sherry grunted, running a hand through her hair in annoyance. "Then, I think we _should _play a game."

"I thought we all lacked social skills!" Steve complained, purposely using a mock-whiny voice.

"I have a game that hardly requires that," she declared, rising from her seat and grabbing a notepad from the kitchen counter. She placed it on the table before wandering into the living room to retrieve three pencils from the phone drawer.

"If this is one of those cheesy-ass slumber party girl things, I will kill you," Steve noted.

Sherry sat back down, and explained, "Okay, this is how it works: Someone randomly thinks up a subject—usually a _concept_—and we all write something down on our pieces of paper while disguising our handwriting. Then, whoever thought up the subject gathers each paper, mixes them up, and one by one, reads them out loud. Once the person is finished reading all the papers out loud, he or she tries to guess who wrote what."

"Why do we have to disguise our handwriting?" Steve asked, tapping his fingers on the table, suddenly very bored. "Can't someone else just read it out loud so the person guessing doesn't see the writing?"

"_Because,_" Sherry explained sternly, "if we did that, whoever is reading would have to read their own statement and their tone could give away whether they wrote it or not."

"Oh…" Steve said.

"Okay, so, who wants to start?" she asked, ripping three pieces of paper off the notepad. When no one said anything, an obvious sign of lack of interest, Sherry just rolled her eyes, passing the three papers to Wesker, Steve and Claire. "_Fine_. I'll think of the subject and guess."

"Good, because this game is gay."

"Quiet, Steve," Sherry ordered. She collected herself properly, then said, "Okay, the subject will be… _food_, how about that?"

Steve and Claire shrugged, but Wesker remained emotionless. Eventually, one by one, each of them picked up their pencils and began jotting down something. They all seemed to write quickly, an obvious attempt to scribble so as to disguise their penmanship. After they folded their papers, Sherry collected each and mixed them up in her hands. Once she was positive she couldn't remember the order, she opened all three, beginning by reading the first one:

"'_I think it's wrong to eat veal_,'" Sherry read aloud, nodding briefly as she set the paper down.

Steve looked pointedly at Wesker. "Ha! Well, we all know that isn't yours. You'd slaughter a family of baby cows without even blinking."

"_Quiet_, Steve," Sherry repeated. She then continued to read the last two, "'_Food is for fat people_,' and…"—Sherry shifted to the next paper—"'_I think human meat would be quite delectable for tomorrow night's dinner_.'" The girl faltered, furrowing her brow and looking at Wesker in a similar manner Steve had looked at him just a few moments ago.

"You guys suck," Claire declared, finally speaking up. "You both wrote something far too revealing. I thought the point of the game was to write something vague that didn't necessarily match your personality."

"When the fuck did she say that in the rules?" Steve whined.

"She didn't. But, it was easily interpreted."

"Claire's right," Sherry said, nodding. "So, Albert, nothing about human meat, okay?"

He shrugged.

"And, Claire, nothing too soft," Sherry then chided.

"_What_? The veal thing could've been Steve's, too!" she complained.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I don't care which animal certain meat comes from!" Steve shouted. "And, besides," he then added, deciding to reference his own answer, "food is for fat people."

Sherry sighed, now annoyed. "Okay, we're doing this over again," she said, crinkling up the papers and handing out new pieces. "This time the subject will be, uh, _secrets_."

"Ooh—!" Steve sarcastically cried, grabbing his pencil and writing down something in mock excitement.

Seconds later, when everyone was finished, Sherry recollected the papers and unfolded the first one, "'_I have no secrets to tell_,'" she read, raising an eyebrow afterwards. "Hmm, okay, and the next one says: '_I'm really bad at multiplication_.'" She shifted to the last paper, reading off, "'_This one time, in the locker room, I accidentally touched another guy's ass, and that was basically the gayest thing I ever did until I was forced to play this game_.'" Sherry blinked before shooting a look at Steve and growling angrily. "_Steve_, can you _not _act stupid?"

"What?" he groaned, grimacing. "That could've been Wesker's!"

"I would've supplied more details to an experience like that."

Steve balked for a moment before exclaiming, "Gross, fag!"

Wesker shrugged. "Hmm, you're the one who touched some guy's dick in the locker room."

"It was his ass!" he defended. "And, it was an accident!"

"Jesus Christ…" Claire muttered, shaking her head.

"Yeah, okay, _moving on_," Sherry broke in, "I think the multiplication one is Claire's and the 'having no secrets' one is Albert's, although, you're obviously lying."

"I don't believe I said I _didn't_ haveany secrets—just that I don't have any _to tell_. Meaning, any I _want _to tell."

Sherry smiled, apparently amused by his technicality. "Okay, Claire, you pick a subject this time," she then decided, taking the girl's pencil to use.

Claire didn't look too thrilled to be put on the spot, but as Sherry distributed paper to Wesker and Steve, she managed to come up with a subject. "I choose _religion_," Claire voiced. "And, Steve, if you write something about Catholic priests molesting boys, I _will _punch you."

"I wasn't—!" Sighing, the boy stopped himself from speaking and resorted to mumbling before looking away and writing something down on his paper.

Sherry finished first and handed her piece to Claire, followed by Steve and then Wesker. Claire shuffled the three pieces quickly, and then read, "'_Once, I was tricked into taking a personality test for Scientology_.'" She chuckled at this, but then continued, "'_I think religion is for insecure assholes_,'"—she switched to the next paper—"_and_, finally, '_I used to go to church up until I turned ten_.'"

This time, no one had anything snide to say, and instead, they allowed Claire to think over her answers. She curled her lower lip, obviously giving the whole thing great thought before setting the papers down and looking up to everyone.

"The Scientology one is Steve's, the insecure one is Sherry's, and the last one is Wesker's."

"_Ha_, wrong!" Steve exclaimed. "I didn't get suckered into some stupid Scientology test. Mine was the one about going to church until I was ten."

"You got mine correct," Sherry admitted.

Claire blinked a few times. "So, _you're _the one who got tricked into a Scientology test?" she asked, gaping widely at Wesker.

He shrugged. Again.

Steve laughed obnoxiously. "You idiot! How the _fuck _did that happen?"

"It just did," Wesker said, not seeming to care about it. "They determined I wasn't a good candidate for their religion."

"You're not a good candidate for _any_ religion," Claire grumbled, pushing the notepad to Steve. "Your turn," she said.

Steve smirked and rubbed his hands together in a mockingly villainous way. "Oh, yeah, baby, my subject is _sex_!"

"Should've seen that coming," Wesker droned.

"_Coming._ _Ha_, good one," Steve said, although it was obvious the pun was only amusing to him. "Now, snap to, bitches, I definitely want to see what you guys are going to write."

Sherry, Wesker and Claire all managed to decide on something quick, and as they slid their papers to Steve, the boy continued to chuckle beneath his breath.

"I swear, Steve, you're like a ten year old," Sherry commented.

"Oh, please!" he dismissed as he mixed up the papers. "What do _you _know about sex anyway?"

"More than you, probably," she gambled.

"Yeah, right. You wouldn't know sex if it smacked you upside the head."

Sherry raised an eyebrow. "How does sex smack you upside the head?"

"Just read the papers, Steve," Wesker suggested, annoyed.

"Fine!" he yelled, turning to the first one. "'_I lost my virginity at 16_,'" he read, then eyeing Sherry momentarily. "Well, that obviously ain't yours," he reasoned, flipping the pages. "'_Sex is a desire that humans succumb to and therefore lose control of their own self-will_.'" Amused, he scoffed knowingly at Wesker, and went on to read the last, voicing, "'_My intuition tells me there's absolutely no way Steve has ever been laid in his entire life._'"

Sherry stifled a laugh by putting a hand to her mouth, but her amusement was evident nonetheless.

"You little fucking cunt!" Steve hollered, rising from his chair in sincere anger.

"Steve!" Claire shouted, standing, too, as she gaped widely at the boy. "I'm sure she was kidding! There's no need to flip-out."

Sherry remained somewhat deadpanned now, her laughter settled. "Uh, that wasn't even mine, Steve," she revealed, giving him an odd look.

Steve's mouth dropped, and he immediately transferred his glare to Wesker. "All right, fine, fuck all you!" he announced, throwing the notepad at the blonde man. "You can shove this game right up your asses!"

And, with that, the boy stomped up the stairs, barely managing to travel through the dark living room without bumping into every passing object. Right before he slammed the door, he heard Sherry and Claire break into hysterical laughter.

**End of Chapter Ten**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven:**

**Lethal Poison Through Their System**

xxxxx

Sherry's last week of school managed to pass rather smoothly, although the sudden reappearance of Samantha on Friday morning had made her final day a bit discomforting. Regardless, she was done with that school now, and she would hopefully never have to return. But, because Wesker had been busy throughout the week he had very little time to arrange for Sherry's personal tutor. Following the meeting Sherry had with her principal and Claire, Wesker had indeed taken her back to the facility, but only to be present as he requested transfer papers from The Agency bureau. Since then, he hadn't brought up the subject too often; however, she wasn't too bothered about this, given that he already explained The Agency was still deciding who her tutor would be and where her sessions would be held. Today would be the day she'd finally find out, she supposed. After all, she had been stuck loitering around The Agency facility since noon, and while Wesker had brought her lunch and allowed her to watch television in his small, cramped office, it was utterly boring to sit and wait.

It wasn't until 4 p.m. that Wesker showed up again, carrying a thick manila folder in his hands and asking, "Sherry, you remember Trent, correct?"

Sherry looked up from the rubber band she was stretching, spotting Wesker standing in the doorway. She instantly readjusted her position on the swivel chair, taking her feet off the man's desk and clearing her throat. "I, um… Yes, I remember him," she stuttered out, then realizing why he was even asking her such a question.

Behind the blonde stood a clad-looking man, tall and thin with the blackest set of hair she ever remembered seeing. His eyes focused on her carefully, the familiar green color reminding Sherry of when they first met. Back then, the man's fixating stare had done little to comfort her after being brought to The Agency facility for the first time; but, _now_, something about them was soft and comforting, an empty threat she didn't think existed in the first place. Just as she was about to smile brightly, hoping to provide a friendly greeting, Trent moved forward, placing a single envelope on the desk.

The girl blinked, looking down at the envelope. "What's this?" she asked, cocking her head.

"Sherry," Wesker began, "I hate to reiterate myself for the hundredth time, but I feel this may be for the best before arriving at my central point."

Now Sherry was nervous. And, maybe a little scared, too. She folded her hands in her lap, leaning forward as both Wesker and Trent took their seats at two empty chairs. It really should have been the other way around—Sherry sitting in front of the desk and the two men sitting behind—but the serious atmosphere left little time for the girl to dwell on such a trivial fact.

"Okay…" Sherry said, her tone low.

For a second, Sherry thought she saw hesitation in Wesker's eyes. It was easier to pick up on now that he removed his sunglasses and placed them on the desk. "Your father and I worked with Umbrella for twenty years," he stated, "and after I decided to leave the company, Trent assisted me in establishing a new career here."

"I know," the girl acknowledged, nodding slowly. "I also know neither of you are fond of Umbrella… At least, not currently."

"Yes," Trent established, finally speaking. "While I am interested in Umbrella's bio-weaponry research, the company itself is not something I applaud. It is run crookedly, and it treats its employers as slaves, not people."

Sherry eyed Wesker after Trent was finished talking, searching for a reaction. When she saw nothing, she refocused her attention on Trent.

"Umbrella murdered both my mother and father. My father, James Darius, was a researcher, and Umbrella used him to develop a synthesis for tissue repair. Afterwards, they had him murdered, stole his research and kept his accomplishments for their own greed." The man shifted in his seat before continuing. "This is completely similar to what happened to your father, Sherry," he finished.

"…Yes, it is," she voiced, narrowing her gaze.

While Sherry had discussed this event endless times, hearing it from a man who spoke so apathetically almost pained the girl. This wasn't something you were supposed to speak _freely _about. While it was clear Sherry and him could relate to an identical tragedy, the girl knew she was nowhere near as comfortable discussing her father's death as he appeared. However, Sherry couldn't shake the fact she knew both her father _and _Wesker had performed a similar conspiracy against James Marcus. She had learned this in the course of snooping through Wesker's files long ago, and she had to admit, the whole thing still troubled her. Wesker and her father were _friends_, and they conspired a murder together. Years later, Umbrella conspired a murder against her father. It was all so ironic and harsh. Did Wesker feel any shred of guilt for having killed a man and stolen his research? Did he feel guilt _now _for having the same thing happen to someone who Sherry assumed truly was his friend?

God, Umbrella sure enjoyed killing their employees after their "potential" expired. Perhaps it was hypocritical to criticize and loathe a company that was researching the same as The Agency, but somehow, Sherry completely understood Trent and Wesker's displeasure.

"I thought this was supposed to be about my tutoring," Sherry then stated, hoping to change the subject. "I don't understand why you're here, Mr. Darius."

Trent let out a small exhale. "This _is _about your tutoring," he insisted. "You are the daughter of William Birkin, and your intellect has been proven to match his to a great extent."

"Um, thank you," she stammered, raising an eyebrow. She looked at Wesker, hoping he would get to the point. "Is _he _going to be my tutor, or what? I don't understand what's going on here."

"Sherry, before your father's death, he himself planned to leave Umbrella. Just as myself, William intended to move to The Agency with Trent's assistance and carry on his research of the G-Virus here. At the time, I was busy with S.T.A.R.S., but just as I am doing now, I had every intention of studying the viruses once again."

"Very little of our staff is qualified to handle the G-Virus research," Trent continued for Wesker, "and while we are seeking new employees to help develop the virus specifically, your father's absence will undoubtedly slow down the process."

"Well, yeah, he's dead," Sherry droned, still not grasping the point.

"I want you to open this letter," Wesker announced, pushing the white envelope closer to the girl. "It is from your father."

"_What_?" Sherry shouted, immediately grabbing the envelope. It had been facedown the entire time, and only now, as she flipped it over, did she realize it had her name scribbled across the center, clearly in her father's own handwriting. "Oh, my God," she breathed, touching the ink with her fingertips. "Why… why didn't you give this to me before?" she demanded, glaring at Wesker.

"Read it, Sherry," he said smoothly.

Sherry gripped the envelope tighter. It had already been opened—of course it had been; there was no way Wesker and Trent would've allowed its contents to remain a mystery—but that hardly mattered. This was from _her father_. She had never said goodbye to him, and now—_now_—she held a remaining sentiment of him, something intended to be given directly to her. Tears stung her eyes as she carefully removed the folded stationary from the envelope.

But, there was suddenly something increasingly unsettling about the whole situation. For a moment, she paused, unable to open the letter itself. The paper, the envelope, the writing: it was so clean and fresh, and obviously not recovered from a horrific scene in Raccoon City. So, where did Wesker and Trent obtain it? When did her father decide to write this and hand it over to a safe source? There was always the cruel possibility it was fake, that Wesker had forged this and possessed an ulterior motive. Unable to open the letter, Sherry dropped it to her lap, staring at Wesker with obvious doubt.

"It's not fake, Sherry," he said pointedly. "He gave this to me a few months before he died. It was long before Raccoon City was anywhere near infected."

Sherry bit the inside of her cheek. "I don't know if I can read this…" she admitted delicately.

"Would you like me to read it for you, Sherry?" Wesker offered blandly.

She considered this. But, Wesker's indifference toward the situation saddened her, and she knew he would make no attempt to read her father's words carefully. It would be quick and simple, and if her father wrote anything the least bit sentimental, she wouldn't want his words to be destroyed by Wesker's deadpanned tone.

So, instead, she shook her head and looked down at the letter. She sighed, unfolding the paper and began reading:

_Sherry:_

_The G-Virus was my life's work, my single greatest creation, and the choices I made while you were growing up contributed to its success, no matter how unfair those choices may have been to you. But, Sherry—there are few people worthy of being in the presence of my G-Virus. There are even fewer people worthy of working with it._

_You are my flesh and blood, my only child. And, if you choose to continue my life's work, I know the G-Virus will grow and prosper, once again proving its beauty, elegance and power._

_My fondest wishes,_

_Your Father_

"I'm sorry if this is unsettling to you," Trent chimed in, knowing she had finished reading.

Sherry looked up, gaping widely at the two of them. But, when tears began to press into her eyes, she narrowed them hesitantly. She was speechless. This wasn't what she was expecting at all. Where was his apology? Where were his redeeming words? Where was his _purpose_? But, all the words—all _his _written words—were so true to form, so _like him _that it was a bitter sentiment she almost found bittersweet. Part of her wanted an admission of guilt or even a dumb cliché that read: "If you're reading this, I am dead." Instead, she received a heartless, four-sentenced letter that really only served as comfort to _him_, not his daughter. It was cold-hearted. And, it was cruel. It was completely empty of any sincere fatherly love.

But, it made sense. Because he didn't love her; he loved his G-Virus. And, she always knew this. The final realization didn't hurt anymore than the first.

Regardless, she looked up again and spoke. "I don't understand…"

"It's vague," Wesker noted. "But, Sherry, there were many things William told me before he died, and one of them was how he wished for you to continue his work."

"…Wait, _what_?" the girl exclaimed, her mouth dropping open once again in confusion.

"Reread the letter, Sherry," Wesker suggested.

So, she did. And, the last line struck her in a way it hadn't the first time. "_And, if you choose to continue my life's work_," it read, more blatant than she herself could've imagined coming from him.

"He wants me to..." She trailed off, frozen once more.

"Yes, and that's why you're here today, Sherry," Trent went on, breaking the peaceful atmosphere. "You no longer have to attend school, if that's what you desire. Instead, you may be trained here in the labs. You'll be placed on an observer position at first, but in the following weeks we plan to move you to the—"

"Hold on!" the girl interrupted. "What in God's name gives you any idea I _want _to continue my father's work?"

"There's little reason for you to continue school, for one," Wesker said, beginning to tap his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Your father was only a few years older than you are now when he started working with Umbrella. He was a genius, and your intellect is similar to his."

"_I'm _not a genius, though…"

"You're not what people would call a child prodigy, but you must keep in mind you weren't pushed as a child. But, I believe you have what it takes to become a useful asset to The Agency."

"Then, you're doing this for your own benefit."

Wesker look at the girl somewhat sympathetically. "Don't let Claire's daily rants influence this decision of yours, Sherry." The man stood up, straightening his suit. "And, yes, that means you have a decision in this. No one is going to force you to work here, but I want you to think it over for a few days."

Sherry watched as Trent rose from his seat, too, preparing to leave alongside Wesker. The girl stiffened in her chair, surprised by their sudden departure. But, before they could go, she stood up as well and voiced, "_Wait_! I… I need to know more…"

Wesker stopped in the doorway, but Trent kept going. "Such as what?" he asked the girl.

"What would I be… _doing_? I mean, would I be hurting animals and people and witnessing horrible, disgusting things? I've had enough of that in Raccoon."

"No," he revealed. "All you would be doing is organizing the tests and going over the results. You wouldn't be doing anything hands-on for quite some time. And, even then, if you choose not to participate in those kinds of experiments, then you don't have to. One thing I can promise you is that you'll always have a choice in this. Your father wouldn't want you forced into anything, and I respect his wish."

Sherry pursed her lips, allowing herself to relax. She wasn't going to overreact to this, not the way Claire always did when Wesker decided to reveal something she didn't know. But, the girl realized she wasn't even angry anymore. Not only that, but she wasn't troubled by the news either. There was something far more powerful running through her, and it wasn't resentment or despair. It was something poignant. And, the feeling was still fluttering through her system when Wesker turned to leave the room.

xxxxx

Claire and Steve were watching _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ on TV, a movie that, according to Steve, was the "single most greatest movie ever made and was totally snubbed out of an Oscar for Best Picture." Claire reminded Steve that "most greatest" was a double superlative and didn't make sense, and that the only animated film ever nominated for Best Picture was _Beauty and the Beast_, and because it didn't win, the nomination barely mattered. Steve claimed she was overanalyzing, to which Claire countered he was overacting to the situation. This was followed by a quick fight over who got to hold the remote, and thus, the two were sitting on opposite sides of the couch.

Claire glanced at the clock on the coffee table and huffed. She had no idea when the movie was going to end, but she had a feeling there was a long way to go. Steve was busy mumbling the words of _This is Halloween _beneath his breath, even though that music number had passed quite some time ago.

Finally, the girl stood up, stretching her legs and declaring, "This movie is boring. And, Oogie Boogie reminds me of Wesker."

"What!" Steve exclaimed. "Fuck that. You don't know good cinema. And, how does a character made out of a burlap sack remind you of _Wesker_?"

"He's evil," she offered, shrugging. "And, anyway, Steve, I'm surprised you even like this stupid movie. Half of its fans are whiny Goths and the other half are whiny Goths who claim _not to be _whiny Goths, but really are."

Steve glowered from his side of the couch. "It's a fucking good movie, okay?" A moment later, he then added, "And, I'm not going to let its entire pissant fans ruin it for me. Fuckin' Goths…"

Claire smiled a little, but let it dissipate. "I'm going upstairs to read," she informed him, stepping over his legs to squeeze between the furniture.

"Read? Read _what_?"

Claire stopped and rubbed the back of her head. "Those files Wesker gave me."

"You still working on getting through those?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"They're complicated," she said dully, obviously offended. "And, I still don't know why he gave them to me."

"The same reason he made me read a bunch of shit: he wants you to be informed."

The girl blinked. "About… about _what_?"

"Everything? Anything? I don't know, Claire, but he made me read countless files, too, and not long after, he had me going on covert operations."

Claire's expression flattened. "Covert operations, my ass," she grumbled. "Sneaking into an Umbrella presentation was no covert operation. Don't exaggerate."

As Claire trotted up the stairs, Steve refocused his attention on the movie, watching as it neared the finale. It was his favorite part of the movie, and Steve wished Claire had a fucking interest in it, because he considered that the two of singing along to Jack and Sally's very last song would probably be the most romantic thing to ever happen to him. It didn't take long, however, for him to realize that sounded totally lame, and he etched the thought, deciding to follow Claire upstairs so he wouldn't have to sit through the scene and relive the embarrassment of what he just thought.

Jack was just beginning to sing when he turned off the T.V., and already, he could hear Claire rustling through all the files upstairs. When he arrived in her room, she was sitting on her bed, examining a photo paper clipped onto a file. Steve recognized it as the NE-α parasite, only recalling the image because of researching so heavily on Lisa Trevor.

Realizing he was standing at the doorway, Claire looked up and immediately said, "There's something missing here."

"Uh…?" Steve started, but Claire cut him off.

"Between the T-102 and the T-103, there's something just _missing. _I don't get how Umbrella managed to create that TV-002 Tyrant from that Virginia woman. There's a missing link, or something." She placed the photo down, giving Steve a look that revealed she was hoping he had answers.

"Well," he began, taking a seat next to Claire, "at the presentation, the guy said Virginia Waters was a G-Virus/T-Veronica experiment. She has both the viruses in her, like I do." He paused, wondering how Claire would react to him so blatantly pointing that out. "But, you're right, there is something missing…"

Claire pressed her lips together. "Do you think it's possible they were lying about something? Do you think the TV-002 is really something else? I mean, it's such a strange name choice. You'd think they would choose something like T-104."

Steve processed this for a second. "You're right," he said, nodding. "From those files, I learned the T-102 was the Tyrant that attacked the S.T.A.R.S. members in the mansion, and the T-103 was the Tyrant after you guys in Raccoon City."

"Right," Claire said, picking up her pen and jotting that down. "There was also the Proto-Tyrant that attacked Rebecca near the Umbrella Training Facility." She wrote that down, too.

"Do you think Wesker is suspicious of the name at all?"

Claire bit the tip of her pen, pondering. "Maybe," she considered, "but I am sure he's keeping it to himself."

"He did mention something to me a while ago," the boy admitted. "Something about another project Umbrella has been developing. He didn't say what, but it's possible the TV-002 may be that 'other' project."

"I just want to stay one step ahead of the game," she stated. "I don't want Wesker knowing things I don't."

"No offense, but he knows _a lot _you don't."

Claire glared at him. "Well, I know that, but I'm talking about the current situation, about the TV-002 and stuff. I want to be informed about it. It will help when we go to Rockfort."

Steve's eyebrows shot up. "_We_?" Steve echoed. "_We _go to Rockfort?"

The girl gaped, unable to believe she let that slip. "Shit," she muttered, turning away from the boy. "What I meant—"

"Whoa, dude, did Wesker ask you to come to Rockfort?"

"What! No!" Claire turned to face the boy again. "I… Oh, fuck, I didn't mean to say that, but… Well, Steve…"

Steve continued to keep his eyebrows raised, wanting the girl's explanation.

"I didn't mean to hide this from you…" she said, and although it was a lie, she figured it was somewhat true, being that hadn't _wanted _to hide it. "I found a file the other day. And, it was addressed to Wesker. It said Chris was imprisoned on Rockfort, after he attempted to search the island to find _me_."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Wesker's going because of _Chris_?"

"No," Claire answered, shaking her head. "At least, that's not the full reason. It's like killing two birds with one stone. He gets to steal Umbrella information and also go after my brother."

"Oh…"

"But, Steve, listen," Claire coaxed, climbing further on the bed and onto her knees. "If there's any chance to get the hell out of here, it's this Rockfort mission. And, you _have to _help me convince Wesker to take me."

Steve felt the girl clutch his hands, an extension of the favor she was asking. Steve couldn't help but feel a bit used. Sure, it was comforting and nice to feel the girl touch him this way, but he knew it lacked sincerity.

"He's going to know you're up to something," Steve muttered.

"I know," she agreed, sighing. "And, that's why _you _have to help me with it. Try and convince him it's _your _idea to bring me on the mission. You can hint that I'll be a good way to lure Chris out. Or, you can try and convince him to bring me as a valuable asset to the mission."

"I don't think that will work…" he told her.

"Can't you _try_?"

"Well, I guess I could, but, Claire, Wesker is not that gullible. I'm going to need a lot of time to convince him, and as of now, we don't know when we're going to Rockfort."

"Well, it's worth a try," she said sternly. "I _need _to go, Steve. If Chris is there, I just have to go…"

Steve should've felt more hurt by Claire, for he knew full well she was placing all her ulterior motives directly on him. But, nothing painful was surging through the boy, even though he realized there was, in fact, a lot she was willing to hide from him. But, even from the beginning of reuniting with her, Steve had _never _been fully honest, and so, part of him simply couldn't blame her for hiding such a trivial discovery. Steve would've found out about it eventually. Besides, Claire needed time to process it all.

Of course, while Claire's loyalty to Chris made her appear valiant and noble, Steve had to weigh out the facts, and considering she ditched Sherry for Chris, Claire obviously rated her acquaintances by importance. And, sadly, given any horrific circumstance, Claire would definitely choose Chris over Steve in a second. This was a scenario that could very well play out on Rockfort, and by helping Claire persuade Wesker into taking her, Steve was basically walking straight into a possible heartbreak, or _worse_.

For someone who wasn't considered human anymore, Steve sure didn't feel as though he lost any of his human emotions. Not only did the possibility of Claire betraying him piss Steve off, it also made him jealous. And, in some ways, it actually hurt emotionally. Goddamn, wasn't he supposed to avoid these kind of thoughts as a Tyrant, or something like that? Clearly, Wesker had emotions, but he did a fine job compressing them. Although, Steve figured Wesker's emotional shield existed way before the man ever decided to inject himself with a virus.

But, Claire… Claire was so blatantly human sometimes that it almost made him sick. Sure, Steve may have felt everything human, but Claire had so much more on him, even on Rockfort. She had compassion and trust, and fuck, dude, she _smelt_ so human. Well, okay, the latter really had nothing to do with anything.

Actually, no… It had a lot to do with everything. Because, right now, Steve could smell her humanity in a way he couldn't downstairs. Downstairs it smelt like the bacon and eggs Sherry made this morning, along with whatever weird potpourri the girl decide to set out two days ago as a way to make the house seem "cozier." But here, inside the room, Claire smelt like sweat and meat and minerals and blood. It was different, however, from the other times he had taken the time to smell her. Her blood smelt… different, a kind of difference that he couldn't place as either bad or good.

Visibly irritated by the long stretch of silence, Claire pulled out the elastic holding up her ponytail and quickly messed with her hair before redoing the loop. Steve watched carefully, noting how she shook her bangs out of her face. The whole scene was suddenly switching from nonchalant and cute to incredibly awkward when Steve realized he was staring. _Shit_, the whole thing was kind of reminding him of all those _American Beauty _trailers he kept seeing, what with that girl standing in the gym and those rose petals bursting around her randomly. Steve was positive if Claire knew he was envisioning her like this, she would smack him. But, it was more than just the plain visual. Something about the color red struck him, and that poignant flutter of his senses returned when he took notice of _that smell_. The smell of blood.

"Steve…?" Claire called out, her tone and expression a clear sign she recognized Steve's trance. Almost subconsciously, she hid her hand behind her back.

But, Steve knew that wasn't it. That wound was nearly healed, having scarred over days ago. He was barely concerned with that anymore. No, this smell—this _new _smell—was coming from somewhere else.

"Shit," she cursed, rising from the bed and shuffling towards the middle of the room. "I knew you'd be able to tell."

"Tell…?"

Claire was evidently embarrassed, but Steve remained confused.

With a narrow of her eyes, Claire said, "It's the first time since I've been here that it's started." She shifted her weight, remaining embarrassed. "And, I obviously kind of forgot about the whole situation until this morning. And, when I asked Sherry about it, she said it wasn't that big of deal, that there were plenty of times she had hers around Wesker and even once since you arrived."

Steve blinked. "Okay," he drawled, uncertain what she was talking about. But, then, "Oh. _Oh. _Ah, sick, dude!" He winced at the aroma, finally realizing what he was smelling.

"I guess I'm lucky Sherry's around, otherwise I wouldn't have known what to do about… Well, you know, the proper materials."

Steve continued to wince. "Dude, I don't want to think about Sherry and you exchanging tampons and womanly advice."

Claire grumbled. "That's not what happened, Steve," she informed him blandly.

"Whatever, you know it's true," he said, just to be snide.

The Redfield placed her hands on her hips, ready to lecture him about sexism and post-modern feminism, but she noticed almost instantly how Steve fell right back into his trance, letting his head subconsciously loll to his left and his eyes glaze over with an observant lust.

"Steve…" she murmured, caution looming in her voice.

"It's fucking gross, Claire," he stated, his natural tone reviving. "But, at the same time, it smells so good."

It really shouldn't have been gross, though, Claire concluded. After you ruled out the whole uterine lining and muscle fiber thing, it _was_ just blood. The only real difference was where it was coming from, she supposed. But, in reality, the whole concept shouldn't have disgusted Claire as much as it was—because it was _her _body, and this was something she had dealt with since she was thirteen. But, the thought of Steve being aroused by her menstrual blood… Well, shit, everyone had their limits.

So, why was it that her body started to react when the boy stood up, approaching her slowly and placing his hands on her shoulders? She shivered, feeling him move closer as she half-prepared herself for a kiss. But, instead of pressing their lips together, Steve aligned their hips, fusing their lower halves and grinding against her in an agonizingly seductive manner. She almost felt herself collapse in his arms.

"Claire," he breathed, moistening his lips just before he pressed them onto hers.

Her limp arms finally found life, and she positioned them around the boy's torso, allowing him to press further onto her. Her jaw went slack a moment later, allowing his tongue entrance just as she responded with more fervor. Thrilled, Steve turned the girl gently around, gently leading her back to the bed. Instantly, Claire stiffened, but she allowed herself to lie backwards before she slid a hand between their bodies, ceasing any further movement.

"W-what?" the boy exasperated, their mouths finally parted.

"You know we can't do this," she said plainly, just as she had when they were at The Agency facility.

Steve didn't look disappointed by her answer, just unimpressed. "It's… it's not that bad," he voiced, taking a long exhale afterwards. "I mean, if you're okay with it, I don't really care."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" she demanded, furrowing her brow.

"You being on your rag."

Claire bit her lip. "That's not it, and you know it," she muttered, creasing her brow even further. "And, even so, that's fucking gross, and I would never do it. I'm talking about protection, Steve."

Protection. Oh, Jesus, what a way to suck the erotic mood away. "Protection from my AIDS?" he spat, bitter once more.

"If that's the way you want to put it, then _fine_, yes."

"Claire, I've snooped through this house from head to toe. I found condoms."

Given any other situation, Claire would've taken a long time to analyze that statement, because there was something pretty fucked up about Wesker owning condoms, and really, she didn't even want to _think _about what the hell that meant. Oh, Jesus.

Steve caught the expression on her face, and said, "What, Wesker doesn't have to the right to fuck?"

"Well, it depends on _who_," she supplied.

"Oh, please, not this again," Steve grumbled. "Sherry and him aren't shagging. I mean, dude, have you ever taken the time to consider the physics of that concept? I'm pretty sure he'd break every bone in her body."

"Sick," the girl gargled, pushing herself up and sighing.

The mood absolutely slaughtered, Steve cooperated and repositioned himself next to her, sighing as well. "Okay, so, the condom thing is taken care of, so what's the problem? I mean, besides you being on your rag, 'cause I know it has to do with a lot more than that."  
Claire remained silent, narrowing her eyes as she tried to formulate the correct words.

"Do you hate me, or something? I mean, _geez_, Claire, just because I've never fucked before doesn't mean I don't know _how_."

"That's not it," Claire assured, giving him a sincere look. "I may not be a virgin, Steve, but that doesn't mean I'm prepared to start judging the performance of my partners…"

"Well, how many times have you actually, uh… _done it_?"

"Just a few times," she admitted. "With the same guy."

Steve seemed to glower at this.

"He was my high school boyfriend, Steve," she informed him pointedly, catching onto his jealousy. She was quiet for a moment, pursing her lips, as was becoming a habit of hers. "Steve, I really want to," she admitted softly, almost seeming embarrassed. "But, _please_, let's take things slow. I don't want to get caught up in this when we have Wesker to worry about."

Steve managed to nod. "Well, okay," he agreed. "As long as we're not fighting anymore…"

"No, we're done with that," Claire assured him, smiling and moving closer to the boy. She placed her hand over his, smiling at him with full sincerity. It may have felt really goddamn lame and tacky, but in the end, it was sweet, because it was just between the two of them.

Steve initiated another kiss, but instead of an enthusiastic mix of tongues and teeth, this one was calm and still. And, in so many ways, it was just plain romantic. Claire had never kissed someone like this, not even her longtime high school boyfriend. All she ever remembered were sloppy kisses and clumsy hands moving under her bra—but _this_ was delicate and pleasant, and had Claire not known the factual truth, she would've sworn Steve was far more experienced with girls than he was letting on this entire time.

The two only broke apart when they heard the front door open downstairs, a clanging of keys and metal. Sherry's voice soon emitted, echoing through the house as she said something about chafing underwear and foot blisters. Claire really didn't want to know what Wesker and her had been talking about before entering the house, not that she really wanted to know what happened while they were at The Agency facility together. Claire felt her mood instantly drain, and she suddenly resented Sherry for the lousy timing of Wesker and hers arrival. Steve and Claire may not have planned on shagging, but their time alone today had been serene. It almost felt like the first time the Redfield managed to be at 100 percent peace in the household.

"Should we go downstairs…?" Steve asked, his expression flat.

Claire gave a tired shrug, but released herself from Steve's remaining embrace and straightened herself out before deciding to roam downstairs. Steve followed, spotting Sherry in the living room.

"You were there all day, Sherry," Claire immediately began. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course," the girl replied, almost too flippantly.

Claire smelt coffee beginning to brew from the kitchen. She turned the corner from the living room, giving Wesker a pointed stare from where he was taking out a mug from the cabinet.

"How was your day?" she bitterly spewed.

Wesker only glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "You look flustered," he said. "Did we interrupt something by coming home?"

Claire flushed, biting her lip and walking out of the kitchen. "It's a good time to start mentioning Rockfort," she whispered lowly to Steve. "I'm going back up to my room."

Sherry heard the last part and perked up, interested. "Good, I need to talk to you," she revealed.

"Remember what I told you, Sherry," Wesker voiced from the kitchen.

Claire gave a puzzled look, ready to demand an explanation. But, Sherry tugged at her sleeve, pulling for her to come upstairs. The Redfield made sure to give Steve a final look before being carted off, a clear sign she wanted him to begin persuading Wesker into having her come along for Rockfort.

Hesitant, Steve wandered over to the kitchen, emerging from the side wall and biting his bottom lip. There was no point of lurking, however, and Wesker made this inescapably clear by giving the boy a frank look, disapproving of his sleuthing.

"What?" he asked, on-edge.

"Claire and I were talking…" he decided to say. His eyes darted to the floor, averting the blonde man's gaze. "And, well… It kind of brought back some memories."

Oh, Jesus. Steve was pretty sure he never sounded more retarded in his life.

"I'm not sure I can help you, Steven," Wesker stated, resuming his coffee making.

"Well, Claire's upstairs with Sherry!" he whined. It was frightening how sincere his tone was, too. "I need _some_one to talk with right now."

"Fine," the man grunted, not sounding interested.

"I'm not sure if I can go back there," he explained, figuring it was the obvious thing to say.

"Oh, please," Wesker sighed out. "You saw a few monsters, had some exercise and flew a plane for about six minutes before Alfred took over. I've definitely heard of more exciting adventures."

Steve scowled, taking a step forward and crossing his arms. "It was more than that!" he defended. "But…" he continued, not wanting to get distracted by Wesker's obvious attempt to anger him. "I don't know what that island is gonna be like without Claire with me." He immediately lowered his eyes, realizing this was a rather poor start.

"You two spent varied time together," the man noted.

"I know," he acknowledged, frowning. "But, it'll be _weird_, that's all I'm saying. What if I start thinking back to something and something bad happens because I was distracted?"

"What is this all about?" Wesker asked, raising an eyebrow. "I can tell you're avoiding asking a question."

Steve tried to remain unaffected by this comment. "Well, no," he voiced. "But, don't you wonder what will happen while we're gone? I mean, Claire will be alone here."

"I'm having her stay at the facility," he explained. "Sherry will be there, too, but for different reasons." The man began pouring his finished coffee into a mug.

"Okay…" the boy said, trying to think of something else to say. "Is she going to be _doing anything_ there, though? Claire, I mean. If she stays here, she'll just be miserably trapped in a room for a couple of days. Wouldn't it be of more use to, well, uh…"

"Bring her with us?" the man finished.

"…Well, yeah," Steve replied with a gulp. "I know she wouldn't cooperate, but maybe if I was there, and she didn't have to do anything vicious, maybe she'd agree. She's survived two outbreaks. She could be a good, uh, soldier, or something."

"Soldier," Wesker echoed in a huff, amused. "She's human, Steve. Not only does she have a conscious that won't allow her to take part in an Agency mission, she's not professionally trained."

"She has experience," Steve pointed out. "Isn't that enough?"

"Perhaps," Wesker offered, "but that doesn't change the fact she's a fucking _Redfield_, and she'll do everything in her power to ruin the mission."

"But, if she doesn't have to do anything—!"

"Why are you pushing this, Steven?" Wesker stiffly asked.

"I… I just don't…" Steve shook his head, rephrasing his sentence. "I want her there. I want her to be with me." It came out well enough, partially because it was the truth, and Steve hoped Wesker heard the sincerity in it.

There was a slight pause as Wesker sipped his coffee. He was having it black, straight up. Normally, Steve would've been disgusted by this sight, but it wasn't surprising. This was Wesker, after all.

"If you want to know the truth," the man said, "I have been considering this myself. It would be a good way to bribe her."

Steve blinked. "_Bribe_?"

"If she comes along with us, there will, of course, be strict guidelines. And, she must follow every single one in order for her to benefit from it. If she manages to do this, I'll do something for her."

"Like what?" Steve wondered, suddenly becoming very nervous.

"I'll let her contact Chris."

"_What_!" Steve balked a bit. "That's too easy! You're lying!"

Wesker took another sip of coffee. "Contact him," he repeated, "not _see _him. Of course, I'll be the one doing the contacting—something simple and quick—but it will be Claire's message."

"She's not going to trust you," Steve pointed out, still not believing it himself.

"Then, I guess she won't be going to Rockfort." He shrugged. "I'll discuss it with her tonight."

Steve watched the man leave the kitchen, grabbing some kind of file from the counter and walking towards his room. Or, the den. Whichever it was these days.

Alone, the boy let out a frustrated grunt. Claire _wanted _to go to Rockfort, so she was obviously going to agree, but something was very suspicious about Wesker's behavior. Why would he agree so easily to this? And, if Chris was already on Rockfort (which was the whole reason Claire _wanted _to tag along), then why would Wesker offer something such as being able to contact Chris? Maybe he meant something else. There was a possibility he would let them see each other on Rockfort, but Wesker didn't even know Claire was aware of Chris' presence on the island. He was probably already planning some kind of malicious reunion between the siblings. But, still, _something _didn't make sense.

Then again, this was _Wesker_. And, many things didn't make any goddamn sense when it came to him. For one, why the hell was Claire living here when he hadn't even attempted to do something horrible to her, like experiment with the girl, or lure Chris out of hiding so he could kill him? …Or, maybe that's what he was trying to do now.

"Shit," he cursed in a drone, kicking one of the floor cabinets.

His head was starting to hurt.

xxxxx

Upstairs, Claire was attempting to listen to Sherry and still eavesdrop on Steve's conversation with Wesker. It ended up colliding after about two minutes, and somehow she ended up formulating some kind of theory involving laundry's ability to cause a colostomy on an individual, and being that this made no sense and probably never would, she realized the whole double listening thing was not effective. But, Sherry _was _talking about laundry now, or at least Claire assumed, because she was throwing things into her laundry basket. At least Claire got something right.

When Sherry realized Claire wasn't listening, she put her hands on her hips and gave a loud sigh. "What's up, Claire? You're a million miles away."

Claire narrowed her eyes. "Sorry," she said. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I got offered a job today," the girl blatantly stated.

"A… a _job_?" Claire hesitated, appearing worried.

"Yeah," she said, now loosening up a bit. "I don't know if I'm going to take it."

Claire had either figured it out already, or was just stupid and couldn't decrypt Sherry's words. Both were reasonable explanations for the blank look on the Redfield's face and her inability to say something.

"It involves a lot of training first," Sherry explained, "and I've been thinking about it all day, and as much as I would feel like a hypocrite to accept it and be doing all sorts of garbage I was previously opposed to… Well, I think things change, Claire, and I, for one, know this may be my only opportunity to take charge of my life and do something other than stupid school, which I _don't need_."

"Sherry!" Claire exclaimed. "You're… _dropping out_?"

"I'm only thirteen," the girl reminded her. "So, it's not dropping out _per se_. I'll just be studying something else. Somewhere else, too."

There was a slight quiver in Claire's face, and she turned away so she could no longer look at the girl. This definitely wasn't the reaction Sherry expected, and she had to admit, she felt sort of bad for being so direct about it. Well, if Claire was Claire, she would start screaming in just a matter of minutes.

"Wesker said I wouldn't have to do anything I didn't want to," she continued. "And, once I'm done training I get my own lab and everything. Isn't that neat?"

Claire gaped. "No! No, it's not neat!"

"Claire…"

"Sherry, you've been through Umbrella's mess. You survived Raccoon City, for Christ's Sake! How can you turn around and be _one of them_?"

"It's The Agency, Claire, not Umbrella."

"I fail to see the difference."

"Well, there _is _one," the girl affirmed. "And, I don't need your permission to do this. You're not my mother. In fact, you're really nothing to me right now."

"Sherry!" the girl repeated, this time with more emotion.

"Well, with Steve around here, you're distracted by him, so why shouldn't I busy myself with a new hobby?"

"Working with a biological weaponry company isn't what I would call a _hobby_."

"It's not your choice, Claire."

"I don't care!" she shouted. "I'm not going to let this happen. _Never_."

"I already agreed," Sherry told her. "I'll be staying at the facility for the next few days. For training purposes, of course."

Claire heaved violently, turning on her heel and racing out the room. In a matter of moments, she arrived downstairs, having pushed Steve on the way and causing him to fall backwards on the last few steps. He let out an angry curse, demanding an explanation, but Claire was busy banging on Wesker's door.

"Open the door, you fucking bastard!" she screamed, hitting the door with her palm. "I swear to God, I'm going to _kill you_!"

Wesker opened the door. "It wasn't locked, Claire," he told her casually.

Claire lunged forward, trying her best to push the man out of the doorway. She half succeeded, but ended up falling forward and stumbling into the room. She recovered and turned back around to glare at the man. "You have _no right _to make Sherry work for you!" she blared, clenching her fists. "Do you even know what she has been through?"

"Plenty, I'm sure," he answered. "And, she made the decision, Claire. Not me."

"You manipulated her, you fucking asshole!"

"Hardly."

"I'm going to kill you!" she threatened again, now seething.

Steve appeared at the door, completely confused. "What the hell?" he asked, presumably still taken back by Claire having shoved him down the stairs.

"He's fucking insane, Steve! He's going to make Sherry his slave!"

"Oh…"

"_Oh_?" Claire echoed in disbelief. "That's all you have to say?"

"Well, Claire," Steve reasoned, "how did you not see this coming? I mean, she's been living with him."

"I don't care!" Claire yelled, taking another lunge at Wesker.

He caught her by the wrist and sighed. "As much as I would enjoy this, there are more important matters right now." The man released his grip, shoving the Redfield away and walking over to the fax machine. He picked up a single piece of paper and offered it to Claire. "We've just received orders to head out to Rockfort Island tonight," he explained before she had a chance to read. "Would you like to come along, Claire?"

"E-excuse me?" she stuttered, catching her breath.

"I have an offer for you," he told her. "In exchange for your services on Rockfort, I will offer you one chance, and one chance only, to contact your brother."

Claire scoffed. "Why the _hell_ would I need that when he—?" She stopped herself. Wesker had no idea she was aware of Chris being on Rockfort, too. But, if that was true, why the hell was he so easily allowing this? She glanced at Steve, and from his expression, she could tell he was still trying to figure it out, too.

"Is there a problem?" Wesker asked.

"What do you think?" she said, grinding her teeth. "How stupid do you think I am? And, why the hell would I want to go?" It was a good act. Or, at least she thought.

"Coincidently," he stated, "we're low on men. Many of The Agency operatives are in Russia, investigating the Umbrella facility there, and so you would simply be acting as a stand-in. Besides, you can keep Steve on his feet."

"Hey!" Steve shouted. "Excuse me, but that's _not _what I meant when I suggested this."

"I don't trust you," Claire spat, ignoring Steve.

"I wouldn't _expect_ you to ever trust me, Claire. There are many conditions to this favor. Many. And, being that we're running low on time, I'd prefer to go over them on the plane ride."

"No. I want them now." Finally having caught her breath, she appeared less unkempt and far saner. "First of all, I'm not killing anyone."

"There will be no need," he assured blandly, taking the fax back from the girl.

"And, I'm not doing your dirty work either," she countered. "No snooping, no stealing, _nothing_."

"I would never ask."

"Tell me what _your _conditions are, then."

"Later," he said plainly. "Now, you two, change into something more appropriate. You'll receive equipment at the facility."

"We're really leaving _now_?" Steve asked, frazzled.

"Yes, Steven," Wesker said, nodding. "Tell Sherry to pack her things, too. She'll be staying at the facility for the next few days."

"I know," Claire glowered, walking out of the room. "For training purposes. She told me."

**End of Chapter Eleven**


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve:**

**God Help Me, Because Mankind Won't**

xxxxx

Claire recalled how it took nearly seven hours to fly from France to Rockfort Island. The circumstances had been incredibly different than now, of course, given that she was unconscious for a majority of _that _plane ride. She had also been handcuffed and thrown into the storage section of the plane, held as a prisoner and treated like an animal. The bruises took weeks to disappear. These were all vulgar memories, and Claire cringed at the realization she was actually thinking so heavily about it all. To distract herself, the girl glanced at Steve, who had fallen asleep with his face pressed up against the plane's window. She could see a thin trail of drool on the left side of his mouth.

Needing to stretch her legs, Claire unbuckled the seatbelt and stood up. The plane was small with only six sets of seats, a total of twelve all together. There were only five people on the plane, however, including herself but not counting the pilots. She had no idea who the other two people were, but she hadn't seen Wesker and them speak a single word to each other.

Claire decided to take the empty seat next to Wesker. They still hadn't found time to talk about the "conditions" for this so-called mission.

"What do you want?" Wesker asked, refusing to look at her as he kept his eyes glued to a book he was reading. The title was _Of the Conduct of the Understanding_, and apparently, it was by some dude named John Locke. Claire had absolutely no idea why such a thing would interest anyone, even Wesker.

"You haven't told me what the hell I am going to be doing here," she pointed out, crossing her legs and getting comfortable in the seat. "I don't need to remind you I'm not killing anyone, do I?"

Wesker sighed, putting down his book. "Virginia Waters," he reminded Claire. "They've finished the trials on her at Rockfort, and they're storing the combat data there. Of course, you know this already, but there's deeper concern."

Claire flinched. "There's not… an outbreak on the island, is there?"

"No," Wesker answered simply. "We're not here to obtain a sample of this so-called TV-002. We're here to investigate it. I had a spy sent to this island a few weeks back, and she was unable to find any information regarding it. She saw the Virginia Waters Tyrant, but she simply couldn't find any _information _on it."

"Okay, so what does that mean?" Claire asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They used a faux experiment name. The 'TV-002' is really called something else, and that's why my spy could not find anything. Umbrella has done this multiple times before, and while it does throw people off, I know better."

The Redfield nodded, following along the best she could.

"Some of The Agency's men—the ones sent to Russia—managed to unearth exactly what this TV-002 really is. It's called the T-A.L.O.S. project."

Claire balked, not sure what the hell he just said. "Ta-_what_?"

"T-A.L.O.S., as in _Talos_. It's named after a man called Talos from Greek mythology."

"T-A.L.O.S.," Claire echoed thoughtfully. "So, why does Umbrella have research on it in Russia _and _on Rockfort Island?"

"The trial experiments took place on Rockfort, as you learned at that presentation weeks ago," Wesker reminded her. "The men sent to Russia obtained as much combat data on the project as possible. But, since my spy sent to Rockfort was not aware of the project's true name, it is important to go back and search for information on _T-A.L.O.S._, not the faux TV-002."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Claire asked suspiciously.

"Well, I've already informed Steven about it. He would've told you anyway."

Claire decided she would believe that. After all, she suspected Wesker saw no threat in her knowing about _Umbrella_'s projects. The Agency's, however, were a different story, and frankly, Claire didn't really care at this point. It was obvious The Agency was just a fucked up organization, desperate to get ahead of Umbrella by becoming a clone of them. Still, Claire was a little confused on why The Agency was sending Wesker and various other men to Rockfort now. Couldn't they just send another spy, like Wesker did? Why did more than one person have to come?

"Hold on," Claire said, concentrating on the possibilities. "Why is your stupid company acting so serious about this _mission_? Is there something else going on here?"

"Yes, plenty," Wesker revealed. "When you saw the Virginia Waters Tyrant, you saw the prototype for the T-A.L.O.S., a very earlier—and inferior—version. There have been quite the improvements since then."

"Like what?"

"I'm sure Jill told you about her escapades with the Nemesis Tyrant in Raccoon City," he explained, "and from your own experiences, you know that Umbrella strives to create a fully functional Tyrant, one that _they _can control and one that has absolutely no conscience. They finally figured it out, although I sincerely doubt the thing's capabilities."

"Oh, Jesus," Claire exhaled, rolling her eyes. "What sort of freak did they create now?"

"While the project was named after the Greek inventor, it also stands for Tyrant-Armored Lethal Organic System. They control the Tyrant's thoughts by a computer chip implanted in its body, which I believe they discussed briefly at the presentation."

Claire recalled that, although she couldn't quite remember what they said it was going to be used for at the time.

"However, they also decided to pathetically dress-up the Tyrant in armor, thus the name. The armor is used as protection, sort of like the Nemesis jacket. However, the armor also helps control mutation, so the Tyrant won't become like Alexia, or the G-Virus subjects."

"So they won't just continually mutant until they become big piles of mush," Claire clarified for herself. She then nodded. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense, but that sounds so—"

"—pathetic?" Wesker finished for her. "Of course it does. Umbrella is grasping for any remains of their once brilliant logic. They've finally run out of intelligent scientists."

"Like Birkin?" Claire asked.

There was a brief moment of silence before Wesker nodded. "Yes," he replied. "This T-A.L.O.S. project is run by Sergei Vladimir. I've been associated with him in the past, and since Umbrella has been under the radar lately and many of their facilities are being closed, he's desperately trying to use this project as a means to regain Umbrella's power."

"And, your mission is to attack Rockfort—for a _second time_, might I add?—and steal their combat data on the T-A.L.O.S. and then leave?"

"No," Wesker said. "The chip in the T-A.L.O.S. is controlled by a computer system located somewhere on the island. We need the combat data, but we also need to destroy that computer. The other men on this mission will do that, so Steven and you won't have to worry about getting your hands dirty. However, I'm assigning the two of you to _locate _it while my men search for the combat data."

"Sounds simple enough for me," Claire agreed.

Despite Wesker's snide tone, he was right; she wouldn't have to get her hands dirty, because she wasn't the one doing the actual work. Locating something and then fucking with it were completely different. Besides, this meant he would let the two of them off on their own, and that would allow her to find Chris. She just hoped Steve wouldn't take his orders too seriously and want to locate the computer before helping her. Of course, Wesker hadn't mentioned what _he _was going to do, and Claire suspected he, too, would be looking for Chris. But, Claire didn't see this as too much of a problem. She remembered Rockfort Island all too well, and she'd be able to maneuver through its locations better than Wesker.

Behind them, Steve jolted awake at the sound of missiles. Claire jumped, too, unsure where the sound came from. Wesker remained unscathed, simply reclining back in his seat.

"It's the other plane," he explained before picking up his book again. "They're attacking the island."

Claire frowned, standing back up and switching back to her seat next to Steve. He was still groggy, unsure what was going on, but when he spotted Claire, he wiped the saliva from his mouth and yawned loudly.

"Damn, what's going on?" he asked tiredly.

"They're attacking the island," Claire reiterated for him. "I guess we'll be landing soon."

Steve began stretching. "It's too fucking hot in here," he complained, removing the gray jacket he wore.

Claire shifted uncomfortably in her own attire. Indeed they were dressed a little _too well_ considering the temperature, both in the plane _and _out. She unzipped the vest she chose to wear—a simple little black one that she found in her closet—and tucked the bottoms of her cargo pants into the tight combat boots. The entire outfit wasn't hideous, but it certainly wasn't as fashionable as she would've preferred. Sure, it was a little silly to be so picky considering the circumstance she was in, but it just didn't feel _right_. It was almost a constant reminder that she wasn't on this "mission" for herself; she was acting as Wesker's slave, despite having ulterior motives.

Beside her, Steve leaned over, peering out the window and watching as the missiles from the nearby plane hit Rockfort Island's grounds. They were purposely fired at unimportant locations, specifically the blank piece of land where the Ashford Manor used to stand. Even from the air, Steve could see the various renovations the island had experienced. It was still recognizable—the prison was still there, the torture yard was still being used, the labs were still in-tact—but it looked a lot less creepy and a lot more professional. If Steve had been an employee down there, he would've been royally pissed that this island was experiencing yet _another _attack (from the same damn organization, too), but he figured after this, Rockfort would finally be forgotten, and Umbrella would stop using it completely.

Claire noticed Steve's curious gaze out the window and voiced, "Hey, you're okay, right? I mean, I know Rockfort can bring back a lot of memories."

Steve turned to face her, but shook his head. "No, I think I'm finally over that," he admitted. "I mean, _yeah_, it's creepy to be here again… But, I'm trying to look at the bright side of the situation. Like, maybe this is _my _revenge against Umbrella? I finally get to fuck with this island like it fucked with me."

Claire leaned back in her seat, feeling the plane begin to land. "You're starting to sound like Sherry," she said timidly.

xxxxx

It smelt like smoke and gasoline on the island. It was almost completely familiar, but there lacked any sort of life around them, B.O.W. or otherwise. Even worse, it turned out to be surprisingly cold on Rockfort, and Steve had quickly reclaimed his jacket when they exited the plane. Claire, meanwhile, found herself folding her arms, hugging her body tightly and standing in a stiff position as the rest of The Agency's men prepared to go separate ways. Wesker was explaining orders to them and distributing appropriate weaponry as well. While the majority of "soldiers"—and Claire used that term loosely, because she found it extremely egocentric—had been given TMPs and Magnums, Wesker only gave Steve and her Berreta M93R handguns. She wasn't really surprised, considering they wouldn't be dealing with the "big" stuff, but she couldn't help feeling as though he was purposely trying to endanger them.

"Claire, Steve," Wesker said, having dismissed the others, "I want you two to contact me if you find _anything_ of interest." He properly handed them two radios. "I'm on line two, and the others are on line three. The pilots are line one, but do not call them unless it's an absolute emergency."

Steve rolled his eyes and nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied, lacking respect.

"Claire," the man said warningly, "I know we do not trust each other, and I wouldn't expect anything different; _however_, unless you completely fuck up here, I will still allow you to contact that brother of yours. Until then, you're working for me."

"I may be doing what you ask, but _I_ _am not _working for you," she spat, glowering at him.

"Get going," Wesker ordered dully. "And, Steven, put on those sunglasses I gave you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the boy muttered, digging into his jacket pocket and placing the dark shades on his face. He supposed it would keep any of the island's occupants from instantly freaking out at the sight of his eyes. Although, honestly, Steve would've preferred their spazzing reactions, because those were, admittedly, always fun to see.

Steve was then quick to turn around and start walking, muttering a few unpleasant things directed at Wesker. In a way, it amused Claire, because while Steve's conflicted loyalty may have been an issue at times, there was no doubting his occasional annoyance for that man, especially when Wesker was being professional.

Now, as they walked, it was beginning to fog, but Steve couldn't tell whether it was smoke or actual mist. But, from the distance they stood, they saw where construction was taking place on the higher levels of the island, specifically where the palace used to be, just below the former Ashford Manor. The renovations were ironically being destroyed, falling victim of The Agency's attacks. The various buildings had caught on fire and warning sirens were sending off echoing blares. It may have been less chaotic than Claire and Steve remembered, but Rockfort was still reeking of havoc.

"I still don't get it," Steve voiced. "I don't get why Wesker is making it sound like Chris _isn't_ on this island."

"Because he doesn't know _we know_," Claire reminded him. "And, somehow, he was dumb enough to think we'd never run into him here."

"Well, I don't think he's anticipating us snooping around the _prison_. He really thinks you're going to hold up your end of the bargain and look for that stupid computer thing."

Claire sighed, beginning to worry whether they _would _be able to locate Chris. She may have known the ins and outs of Rockfort, but it was still a huge island, and there was always a possibility it would take more than a few measly hours to find him.

"So, I've been thinking," Steve began, stuffing his handgun in the holster strapped to his side. "When we went to that lame presentation, didn't the guy say the Tyrant was supposed to be a T-Veronica experiment?"

Claire nodded, replying, "Yeah, I remember that, too. Although, from what Wesker just told me about this T-A.L.O.S. project, I suspect they are still using the basic structure of a Tyrant before equipping it with the armor or whatever. I don't know, it's kind of hard for me to picture this all in my head."

"Me, too," Steve agreed. "I mean, a Tyrant with armor? _Gay._ Gayer than Wesker."

Claire rolled her eyes. "My guess is that the actual Tyrant _is _a T-Veronica experiment," she explained. "I mean, that would have given them the opportunity to work with that virus while also experimenting with whatever they're trying to achieve with this T-A.L.O.S. thing."

"I guess," Steve said, shrugging. "Anyway, where the hell are we? This place looks totally different."

Claire examined their surroundings. "Well, we landed behind the labs," she recalled, scouting the buildings. "I think this is where the Ashford Manor used to be, but it's obviously gone now."

Steve frowned. "If we take the path this way,"—he pointed toward the large metal stairway, just adjacent to where the courtyard of the manor used to be—"then we can get to the prison."

The Redfield breathed in heavily. "Oh, God, Chris, _please _be okay," she said to herself, closing her eyes briefly.

"I'm sure he's fine," Steve assured her. "He might've even found a way out now that the island has been attacked. See, it's all kind of like when we were here before, except you're rescuing _him_, not the other way around."

"I can't take this anymore," she said anxiously, beginning to jog. "If he's at the prison, I need to find him _now_."

"Woah, hold up!" Steve shouted, running after the girl. "Umbrella's fucktard employees are running around all over the place! You can't be careless!"

"Speak for yourself, Steve," she called back, continuing to run. "I recall you doing this a lot the first time we were here."

Steve grumbled, but continued to run with her, eventually catching up so they were running side by side. They ended up down where the large bridge connected the prison and labs, which had obviously been heavily renovated. Claire either didn't trust the new path or just didn't see the point of taking it, because she continued on her way, rushing down the other flight of metal stairs and ending up at the prison courtyard.

She stopped to catch her breath, but Steve also recognized it as a hesitation, a small fear that maybe something awful awaited them when they went to explore the nearby prison cells. The Redfield recovered quickly, however, and turned to look at Steve for what could've been reassurance.

"Let's take it slow," he suggested, patting her shoulder. "Like I said, there are still employees on the island, and if we're not careful, they could attack us."

Claire nodded. "Yeah, you're right," she agreed, pushing open the east gate to enter near the prisoner barracks.

Steve shivered when they began walking up the wooden porch that led to the actual barracks. There were far too many memories in this section of Rockfort, and he cringed at the images of having to eat the gruel of food they were served each day in the so-called cafeteria.

When they entered, however, Steve was shocked to realize _nothing _had changed. Not a thing. The cafeteria table was still broken and damaged, and the various dishware remained scattered all over the room. For a moment, Steve thought he was having another bad memory, but when Claire trotted through the room and busted open the door toward the sleeping quarters, Steve was hit with the realization nothing had changed because no one had _been here_ since he was last on the island.

More importantly, Chris was nowhere to be found, but Claire walked through the room, her movements instantly becoming slow and uncertain. She was passing the aisle of beds, searching for any stray evidence of life. But, there was nothing. It was dusty and blood-stained and completely unused. Steve could feel the remnants of the T-Virus lingering around.

"Claire…" Steve called, reaching out and touching her shoulder. "This doesn't mean anything…"

Claire stifled some sort of grunt. "No, you're right," she said, nodding. "There's still the cell _I _was in, the private one toward the front of the island. They could be holding him there."

Steve somehow doubted it, but he didn't have the heart to tell her. So, instead, he nodded and quickly grabbed her hand, leading her out of the dirty barracks. Outside, Claire heaved lowly, but shook off the emotions before Steve and her picked up the pace, returning to jogging. They pushed through the large gate, bypassing the prison courtyard— (_where we first met_, Steve noted in his head)—and taking the other metal entrance that led to the graveyard.

"_Hey_—!" a voice yelled. "Who the hell are you two?"

Steve and Claire jolted, spotting a woman standing before one of the decayed tombstones. She was wearing a white lab coat, but it was now stained with dirt and grime. The woman's blonde hair was unkempt, a result of stress, and she seemed to be shaking.

Steve reached for his gun, but Claire quickly stopped him. The woman obviously didn't have a weapon, and the Redfield saw no point in threatening her with one of their own.

"Who do you work with?" she demanded, walking up to them with a stiff look. "And, why the _hell _are you attacking this island _again_?"

"Calm down," Claire said, but she realized this was heavily ironic. She wasn't a victim of circumstance like she was in Raccoon City—she was technically with the organization that was causing the current mess. "We're not here to hurt anyone."

"Like hell you aren't!" the woman shouted.

"We're looking for a prisoner," Steve interjected, absentmindedly adjusting his sunglasses. "Help us find him, and we'll leave."

"What, are you some kind of rescue squad?" she asked, frowning.

Claire sighed, but answered, "Yes, we are." To her, it sounded far more convincing than anything else she could've come up with on the spot. "His name is Chris Redfield."

The woman cocked her head. "We don't even have prisoners on this island right now," she stated.

"_What_?" Claire gasped, jumping forward and gripping the woman's shoulder. "That can't be! He was supposed to be here! The name is _Chris Redfield_! Please, do you know if he's here?"

"Get your hands off me!" the woman screamed, pushing Claire off her. "I told you, we don't have any goddamn prisoners!"

"Then… then, what happens to the people that betray Umbrella?" Steve asked, the topic obviously striking some personal conflicts of his own.

The blonde woman backed up, dusting off her lab coat. "What do you think? They're executed!"

Claire shook her head, refusing to believe that. "No, I was told he was on this island. I _know _he's here."

Hearing the sincerity in Claire's tone, the woman's expression softened, and she said, "You guys obviously aren't idiots. You _know _what we're using this island for. Anyone who has been brought to the island in the last month was used in the T-A.L.O.S. trials."

Steve furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"_Used_, as in fucking killed by that disgusting thing we created in the labs."

That statement struck something familiar in Claire, and she instantly heard the echoing voice of the presenter: _'We will be building a battleground, if you want to label it such, and the prisoners of the island will be used to see how the TV-002 reacts to those infected, those not, and most importantly, those who had a strong impact on Virginia's human life.'_

Claire whirled around, grabbing hold of Steve. "Oh, _God_, Steve," she wailed, beginning to shake. "They killed him! They _killed _him!"

Steve grasped her shoulders, calming her. "Claire, we don't _know _that yet," he stated, trying to sound strong. "He may still be somewhere on the island."

The scientist shifted behind the two, lowering her eyes and stuffing her hands in her lab pockets. "There were a few prisoners that arrived a few weeks ago. I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure most of them—the ones that haven't been used, that is—are somewhere in the east labs."

Claire was still shaking, but as Steve embraced her, he managed to look up at the woman to ask, "Please, can you take us there?"

"Why are you trying to rescue this guy?"

"He's my brother!" Claire shouted. "And, I swear to God, if you don't help us find him, I'm going to kill you!"

The woman jerked. "Screw both of you! You attacked the island, not _me_. I'm under no obligation to help you!"

Claire reached for her gun. "I mean it," she warned. "I love my brother more than anyone in the world, and if anything happened to him while on this fucking island, I swear to God—!"

"Okay, okay!" the woman shouted. "Cut out this melodramatic shit! Jesus!" She pushed past the two, gesturing for them to follow her back out the gates.

Claire tightened her grip on her gun, deciding to keep it out. Steve briefly glanced at her, but said nothing as he followed the blonde woman. It was obvious he recognized the Redfield's uncharacteristic selfishness, but knew better not to point it out. Claire almost wanted to apologize—both to Steve and the lady—but she felt a foreign rage building inside her, and the possibility something horrible had happened to Chris made her realize she wasn't above using violence as a means to get what she wanted. She suddenly hated herself for that.

"By the way," the lady said, hands still stuffed in her pockets, "I figure we should be properly acquainted. My name is Julia."

Steve almost wanted to laugh. This was so ridiculous, making idle conversation with an Umbrella employee they were threatening. Regardless, he said, "I'm Steve… And, this is Claire."

"Fuckin' family loyalty," Julia seethed. "I don't think any of my relatives would ever invade an island just to save me."

Now Steve _really _wanted to laugh. This bitch honestly thought that's all this was about. She had no clue about The Agency snooping through the island to get the T-A.L.O.S. data, nor did she realize they were going to destroy that stupid computer system, or whatever.

"Do you think there's any possibility the prisoners managed to escape and are wandering the island?" Claire finally spoke, nothing threatening in her tone.

Julia turned her head to answer Claire properly. "Well, considering where your little plane attacked, I would say _no_, but then again, who knows? Any explosion could trigger the electric locks to switch off." The answer obviously didn't satisfy Claire, so Julia continued, saying, "Listen, there's a database at the military training facility. If we go there, then I can search it and see if anyone named Redfield was admitted."

"All right," Claire agreed, finally relaxing.

The three continued to walk, Julia leading the way and following a course that both Steve and Claire were unaware existed. Considering how clean and well kept it appeared, it was obviously one of the newer sections of Rockfort, a section that managed to avoid The Agency's attacks. It led them to the facility much faster, and they entered through the backdoors.

The inside still looked relatively the same, however. When they turned a corridor, Claire recognized their location, and just adjacent to the front desk, she recalled the entrance she had been much more familiar with. Unfortunately, the west wall had been blown out, along with a cement wall from the outside. Small flames surrounded the area, and Julia cursed lowly, obviously frustrated.

"Spencer is going to be so pissed," she muttered. "At this rate, he's going to shut down the island completely and _then _what? Where the hell am I going to work?"

"Maybe try a retail job, lady," Steve answered snidely.

Julia turned to glare at him. "Fuck you," she fumed, quickly grabbing the fire extinguisher to kill the remaining flames. When she was done, she set the object down and focused her attention on the front desk. "This is going to take a while," she said, loading up the computer. "Listen, you guys can go check upstairs and see if there's anyone lingering around the building. I'll stay here."

"No fucking way!" Claire barked. "You'll use this opportunity to get away."

Julia didn't look impressed by Claire's statement. "Believe me, I won't. It's not like I have anything worth protecting around this damn island, least of all that _thing_."

_Thing_. She must have been talking about the T-A.L.O.S. Tyrant. This was the second time she chose to snark about it, and Claire almost had a flashback of Rodrigo. He hadn't been a scientist, but he participated in Umbrella's doings, and it was only after the island was attacked that he seemed to exhibit more realistic emotions, coming to the realization what was going on was awful, and that he himself might've had some part in it. Julia here was obviously experiencing the same thing, while still struggling with the loyalty she had with Umbrella. It calmed Claire for a moment, and Steve gently placed a hand on her shoulder, something he seemed to be doing a lot.

"Come on, Claire, she isn't lying," he coaxed. "I'm pretty positive she knows it's in her best interests to help us."

Claire sighed. "Come get us if you find anything," she said to Julia, allowing herself to be pulled by Steve as he walked upstairs.

There were only two rooms upstairs, and Claire was curious about the first, considering the doorknob at been broken the first time she visited the place. But, something stopped her. _A voice_. Claire paused, halting all movements and grabbing Steve's sleeve so he would stop, too. Confused at first, the boy eventually heard the voice, too, and they exchanged quick looks, before realizing it was coming from the other room. Steve readied himself with his gun, and Claire did the same, approaching the door carefully before twisting the knob open and bursting inside.

The single person occupying the room whirled around, startled by the invasion and immediately dropping the telephone she had been using. Claire recognized her almost instantly.

"Rebecca!"

The girl, who was dressed in a shoddy lab coat, gasped loudly before allowing her eyes to widen, a clear sign she was unable to believe who had just walked into the room.

"Oh, my _God_, Rebecca!" Claire called out again, putting a hand to her mouth as she gaped.

There was hesitation in Rebecca's stance, hesitation that revealed she hadn't been called that name in quite some time. But, when the shock finally managed to settle, and Rebecca understood there was no threat, her entire face softened, and Claire suspected there was a mutual desire to run up to each other and just pathetically _hug_.

"Claire! Oh, God, Claire, what are you doing here?" she asked, almost sobbing. She looked so fragile, like she was taking care of a situation she had absolutely no reason to nurture. "It's not safe here, we're being attacked!"

"I know," Claire said, slowly approaching the girl. Having already lost most of her self-control, Claire had no problem embracing the girl, hugging her tightly just as she originally wanted to do. It felt safe and _familiar_, like an extension of Chris. She hugged tighter.

"…Wait, I'm confused," Steve said standing at the doorway and not understanding the two's connection.

"Steve, I know her," Claire explained, breaking the hug. "She's my friend, she worked with my brother on S.T.A.R.S. Her name is Rebecca."

"Then, why is she _here_?" Steve asked.

"I'm undercover," Rebecca explained. "Chris and Jill helped me take on a new identity, so I could work with Umbrella and get inside information."

Thrown off, Steve just furrowed his brow. "What a coincidence that you'd wind up on Rockfort," he stated dryly.

The tone was enough to set off Rebecca's own curiosity, and she pointedly asked, "Who's he?"

"Steve," he recited, not hiding the fact he already didn't like this girl.

Rebecca balked. "_The _Steve? I thought he was dead, Claire."

"Long story," the Redfield said, smiling. "God, Becky, it is _so _good to see you." She embraced the girl once again.

Rebecca hugged back. "I know. I missed you so much. I miss everyone! It's so hard being here, witnessing all of what Umbrella is doing." She broke the hug and tilted her head, wondering, "Is Chris here, too?"

Silence briefly swept over them as Claire lowered her eyes. "Actually, Becky… That's why I'm here," Claire said softly. "God, _so much _has happened since you left to work undercover, and… and… I just can't explain it all right now."

"Claire! Is Chris in danger? What's going on?"

Claire pursed her lips. "Something… happened," Claire decided to say. "And, Chris ended up going missing, and I found out he was sent here, just like I was back in December. He's being held prisoner, but I have—"

"_Here_?" Rebecca echoed. "Chris is here? There's no possible way… There aren't anymore prisoners left on the island, Claire."

Steve shifted uncomfortably. "But… that doesn't mean anything, right?" he chimed in, frowning. "If _you _didn't know he was here, then maybe that means he _isn't _here at all."

Rebecca seemed to pale all the sudden. "I… Oh, God, Claire…"

Claire stiffened. "What? What, Rebecca, what do you know?"

"I don't know how much you know about what's going on here," she began, narrowing her eyes. "But, there's this project called T-A.L.O.S., and we—"

"Yes, _yes_, I know about that!" Claire interrupted. "Never mind it—tell me what you know about Chris."

"Well, I_ don't_ know…" Rebecca admitted. "But, oh, God… the scientists are doing these cruel trials in the battlegrounds here, involving this new Tyrant they created. They're using prisoners to collect combat data."

Claire heaved and put a hand up to her forehead. "No, Rebecca, _no_. I refuse to believe something like that happened." She stifled a cry, before continuing, pleading out, "There's got to be a way to figure out if he was one of them, Becky. _Please_."

"Oh, my God," Rebecca whimpered, suddenly stumbling backwards. She caught herself on the edge of the desk. "Oh, Claire… I'm _so sorry_…"

Claire was holding back tears now. "Rebecca, _what_?" she demanded, frustration full in her voice.

Rebecca put a hand over her mouth. "I'm responsible for signing off on the paperwork that goes through the labs," she revealed, her tone a strangled whimper. "And, I… I've been in charge of signing off on the reports that admit the prisoners into the trials. I never see any of them, but I _have to do it_. I had no choice in the matter, Claire, I swear!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Steve demanded, confused but keeping his composure.

"If Chris was a prisoner here… then that means _I _signed the paperwork to let him be used in the trials…"

"Then… that means…" Claire choked out, shaking.

"Claire, I swear I didn't know, I _swear_… Please believe me! Oh, God, I'm _so sorry_!"

"You killed him…"

"No!" Rebecca protested. "Please, _I swear _I didn't know!"

"Why would you sign paperwork that allows these people to _kill_!" Claire screamed, letting go of her restraint.

"I had no choice!" Rebecca argued.

"There's _always _a choice, Rebecca!"

"I didn't mean to do this, Claire… I'm so sorry… I…"

Claire lost control and lunged forward, pushing Rebecca against the desk and clasping her hands around the girl's small neck. Rebecca screamed, the sound coming out as a pathetic gargle as Claire's hands pressed down on her throat. She could feel her thumbs digging into the hard bone and the skin quivering in desperate heaves, but she didn't stop. She just kept going.

"Claire!" Steve shouted, running up to her and trying to pry her off Rebecca. "Claire, _stop it_, you know she didn't mean it!" It was suddenly extremely important not to care whether or not he was jealous of Rebecca's connection to Claire.

"Leave me alone, Steve!" Claire yelled, elbowing Steve from behind. "You don't know that! She's been fucking working with Umbrella for _how long _now? She's a traitor! She's a goddamn traitor, and she _killed _Chris! I want her to die!"

"Claire!" Steve repeated, pulling at her arms so she would let go of Rebecca.

"_No_!" she protested, turning around and pushing Steve before she refocused her attention on Rebecca.

Steve fell backwards, not expecting such a powerful push from Claire. He smashed into the table of glass cylinders and Petri dishes, causing a blur to run through his system as his sunglasses bounced off the bridge of his nose.

Rebecca writhed under Claire's grip, kicking her legs and trying to pry the Redfield's fingers off her neck. "C-Cla_aaa_ire…" she pleaded, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt her breath begin to run short.

"_You killed him_!" Claire repeated, shaking the thin neck in her grip as she continued to press and press and _press_. "I would still have my brother if it wasn't for you and _your fucking_ mistakes!"

Claire felt the body beneath her grip grow limp, and only when Rebecca completely stopped squirming did she finally let go, throwing the body aside and falling to her knees as though it were her who just suffered at the hands of another.

"I hate her…" Claire sobbed, pushing her hands to her face. "She _killed _him. My brother is dead because of her…"

Steve watched as she broke down, unable to gain the courage to approach her, and frankly, too scared to even consider it. But, she was hurting. She was in so much pain that it broke his heart. If she really just lost her brother, Steve knew there would barely be anything left of Claire. She would finally just be an empty shell of a person. What was worse was that Steve could've done more. He was a _Tyrant_, and he had strength. But, he just couldn't get himself to peel Claire away from the girl in risk of hurting the Redfield. Steve felt so pathetic, so absent of the control he was supposed to have from the infection.

He turned, hesitantly, unsure whether or not to leave Claire where she was so she could vent out the remains of her sorrows. It was then that he spotted someone at the corridor. Julia was standing there, blatantly horrified by Claire's blaring sobs.

"Jesus, you _killed _her," she whispered, taking one step at a time towards the room.

Steve wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the right words. Now Julia looked appalled for a completely other reason, and Steve sensed it might have been because she just saw his exposed eyes. But, Claire suddenly collected her vocal sobs and stared painfully at the woman who stood at the doorway, wanting to hear what the woman had to say.

"I… Well, I checked the computer. And, your… your brother's not dead," Julia stuttered out. "At least, he didn't fucking die on this island. There's no record of him ever being a prisoner here."

"…What?" Steve gaped. "What the hell do you mean? That Rebecca girl just said—"

"We have _no record _of him being on this island," she repeated. "This isn't a mistake. We don't get these things wrong."

"But, that doesn't make sense!" Steve argued, exchanging looks between Claire and Julia. "Claire found a file! It said Chris was going to be here, and we knew that was why Wesker wanted to come here, and—"

Then, it clicked.

And, suddenly, it all made such horrible sense that Steve couldn't believe they had been so stupid to have not seen it in the first place. Because it all started with that fucking file Claire found in Wesker's office that one day. That one day where he had conveniently left the door _unlocked. _That file was fake. It was planted there just _so _Claire could read it. Why else would Wesker _ever_ leave his door unlocked? Oh, Jesus, and Wesker had used that to get Claire to agree to come to Rockfort. That's why there was no hesitation on Wesker's side, no outward concern Claire would ruin his plans and try to find Chris on her own. No, because this was all _Wesker_'s plan, and Chris was never even in danger on Rockfort Island. Wesker had planned every bit of this just to fuck with Claire and destroy her sanity. Claire had just murdered one of her friend's for absolutely _nothing_.

Steve turned to look at her. And, from the blank slate of shock that formed on her face, Steve knew Claire had just come to the same exact realization.

**End of Chapter Twelve**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen:**

**So Many Kicks in the Big Picture**

xxxxx

No one had moved for quite some time.

Claire had stopped crying, caught between the relief of her brother's safety and the realization she had _murdered _Rebecca Chambers. Steve was standing motionless, caught between wanting to comfort Claire and then somehow not knowing how one was supposed to approach such a delicate action. Julia was looking at her wristwatch, caught between trying to figure out what was going on and wondering if she was off the hook from serving Claire and Steve.

"She always had reservations about signing those documents," Julia suddenly said, breaking the silence. "I mean, I'm just saying, you know, in case that makes you feel better."

Claire wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. "It doesn't," she said, lifting herself from the floor.

Steve immediately helped her, guiding her out of the room while Claire refused to turn around and look at the lifeless body of Rebecca Chambers. Claire felt stiff and frail, and it took every bit of self-control to not handle Claire roughly, just out of natural instinct.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Claire made some sort of whimper, and she pressed herself against Steve, desperate to be held. The boy responded instantly, embracing her as much as he could and running his hands through her hair.

"I'm sorry, Claire," he said, closing his eyes. "I… I should've done more to stop you…"

Claire stifled another whimper in Steve's chest. "_No_, it was me… I completely lost myself…" She managed to return Steve's embrace, wrapping her arms around his frame and continuing to press into him. "I killed her, Steve. I killed one of my best friends."

Julia just finished walking down the stairs, keeping her distance from the two. "Care to explain what's going on with your _eyes_, kid?" she asked pointedly. "If you got some radiation or something from this island, I can help you…"

"It's not that," he quickly said. "Don't worry about it, please."

Julia muttered a curse. "Listen," she said, "I just received a message from some of my coworkers at the airport. They're doing an emergency evacuation, and I need to get on one of those planes."

Claire carefully broke away from Steve, sniffing briefly. "Go, then," she replied, wiping her nose. "The least you could do is escape before things here get more chaotic."

"…Thank you," Julia hesitantly said. "I don't know exactly what is going on with this brother of yours, but… I hope everything works out."

Claire nodded, her eyes blood-shot and her face paled. Julia faltered for a moment, but slowly, she turned around, exiting through the main entrance to start heading toward the airport. Steve almost wanted to call out to her and quickly ask if they could come along, but he knew it was unrealistic. She was just one of many Umbrella employees on the island. They had been lucky and managed to run into one that had _some sort _of conscience. The others wouldn't be so understanding, and they would question Claire and Steve's presence on the plane, ultimately resulting in some sort of conclusion that neither of them were willing to deal with.

Now able to keep herself elevated, Claire stumbled away from Steve, heading behind the front desk, where the computer Julia had used was located. It was still on, and the screen displayed a prisoner profile. Claire's prisoner profile, to be exact.

"Why was she looking at this?" Claire asked, sitting down on the swivel chair.

"It probably came up when she searched for _Redfield_," Steve reasoned, peering over Claire's shoulder to look at the screen. "I'm surprised they managed to keep all the files from before Rockfort was attacked the first time."

Claire was busy clicking various windows on the computer. When she found the database, she scrolled down, understanding that the files were organized by specific date. Still behind her, Steve glanced down, trying to get a good look at Claire's facial expression. She looked blank. Completely _blank_. He had never seen another human being with such an empty expression, not even _Wesker_. But, Claire was doing this on purpose—she was purposely busying herself, trying to distract herself from the reality of the situation, trying desperately to avoid the final confirmation she murdered her friend for nothing.

Steve reached out, halfway there from collecting her in his arms before she slammed her hands on the desk, startled by something she had read on the computer.

"_Goddammit_!" she screamed, kicking back the swivel chair and pushing over a stack of papers.

"Claire," Steve called, grabbing her by the shoulders before she completely wrecked the place. "_Claire_, calm down."

She stiffened in his arms. "She wasn't lying," she told him, referring to that Julia woman. "Chris isn't listed anywhere in those files…"

"You _can't_ blame yourself for this," Steve said, rubbing her back. "Wesker manipulated you with that file. How were you supposed to know it was planted there? How was _I_ even supposed to know when you told me?"

"But, that's the thing…" Claire began, pulling away from him. "When I told Sherry about it, she told me Wesker _always_ kept his office door locked. And, when she said that, some kind of realization should've hit me! But, _it didn't_, and I'm completely stupid for not having put one and two together!"

Just as Steve began formulating a response, the two heard a rustling of rubble, followed by quick footsteps. Steve prepared his gun, backing up and gently pushing Claire behind him. She didn't react much, only allowing herself to be shuffled back, unresponsive to the noises down the hall.

"Hey, _you two_," a male voice called, the man apparently seeing Claire and Steve before they saw him. "We've got this area clear, go look in another location for the T-A.L.O.S. computer."

It was another Agency soldier, appearing at the doorway with his TMP neatly pressed against his chest, ready to use if necessary. What scared Steve was that he _knew _The Agency's men probably "disposed" of all the remaining Umbrella employees. Steve hated the company and everything it represented, but sometimes, he wasn't sure how to feel about its employees. If they were trying to escape the island, it seemed so cruel to have them gunned down by the organization who _attacked _Rockfort in the first place.

"Why are you just standing there?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Steve replied, sounding calm. The last thing they needed was for this guy to contact Wesker, informing him of Claire and Steve's "strange" behavior. "No one has located the computer yet?" he then asked, trying to remain on the topic.

"Not yet," he said, tilting his head to try and look at Claire, who was still behind Steve, hiding her sniffles and watery eyes. "Like I said, though: this place has been searched already, no sign of the computer. Go look somewhere else." He made a gesture with the TMP, signaling them to get going, and although it was not a threatening motion, it was still an uneasy sight.

Steve grabbed Claire's wrist from behind him, pulling her along. The man eyed them suspiciously, but allowed room for them to exit the small office. They ended up in the courtyard, which Steve remembered quite vividly, considering there had been that big fucking worm thing crawling beneath the ground. To their right was the elevator lift that led down to the airport, and to their left, there was a large gate, an area Steve had never had the chance to explore. He began walking in that direction, still pulling Claire along.

"Steve…" she eventually said, stopping after they made their way through the gate.

Steve stopped as well, letting go of her wrist. "Yeah?" he said, turning around to face her. She looked up at him, her eyes glossed over and still red. "You know, I really don't care to look for that stupid computer, Claire. We can just rest here, if that's what you want."

"I want to find a place… where we can be alone…"

"We _are_ alone," he reminded her, looking around himself just to reaffirm that fact.

"Somewhere else," she clarified, narrowing her eyes.

Steve shrugged. "Okay, but I don't know where we are at the moment." He scratched the back of his head and examined the area. Everything looked so clean, and although Steve had never been over in this section of the island, he knew it must have been renovated.

Claire folded her arms, hugging her body and walking forward. There was a building at the end of the dirt courtyard, and although she could clearly see an electric doorlock, the lights on it were green, suggesting they would be able to enter.

Surely enough, they were, and while the inside was a maze of halls and doors, the interior was completely similar to every other building on the island: the color, the floor design, the modest decoration. Steve could've sworn they were just in another section of the labs. Claire took it upon herself to enter the nearest office, and once Steve followed, she shut the door.

"I just want to rest," Claire explained, catching Steve's concerned expression. She leaned against the door, sliding down on its frame and sitting on the tiled floor without any reservation. "I'm so lost right now, Steve," she then admitted, pulling her knees to her chest. "Part of me just wants to die."

"Claire, don't even say that!" Steve exclaimed, getting down to her level by kneeling. "I hate seeing you like this…"

Claire pursed her lips, keeping her eyes narrowed. "But, it's true, Steve…" she murmured. "There's this sinking feeling in my chest. I've never killed someone before, not like _that_."

Part of Steve wanted to tell her it was okay, but that was hardly comforting, considering he _had_ killed before, and it was definitely not the time to remind Claire he was a Tyrant. He realized he didn't have any reassuring words for Claire, and that frightened him. She was hurting right now, and all he could do was watch. He was never good at this comforting thing.

"She didn't even know the _real_ reason I was on this island," Claire pointed out, sighing afterward. "Jesus… Maybe it was better that she died without knowing why I was really here, why I was _tricked _into coming by Wesker. She'll never know that I betrayed her and my brother and _everyone_ who I care so much for…"

"You didn't betray _anyone_," Steve said softly. "You had no idea of knowing Wesker was fucking with your head like this."

"But, that's not the point," she stressed, pushing her head into her hands. "I still agreed to come here, I still agreed to _help _Wesker. And, _I _dared to call Rebecca a traitor? God knows I'm really the one who's betrayed everyone."

"If you feel that way, Claire," Steve began, pushing some of the girl's hair back, "then we can leave. We can find a way off this island right now, and just _leave_ Wesker, like you've wanted to do all along."

Claire looked at him. "I can't do that. We need to take Sherry with us."

"Sherry?" Steve furrowed his brow. "But, she… she _wants_ to be with Wesker."

"I know," she said, "but that's all the more reason for us to get her away from him. Sure, she feels like she belongs with him now, but once we take her away, then she'll realize _we _were right. She'll get used to being away from him, just like she got used to being away from Leon and me."

"I… I don't know, Claire…" He sighed, unsure what to say next. "You said yourself that Wesker provides for her better than you ever could."

"But, she's not in school anymore," Claire debated. "We wouldn't have to enroll her anywhere."

"She's not in school because she's being _trained_ by The Agency. It's like a secondary education option. We can't offer her that, Claire."

The Redfield's expression changed, and she glowered at Steve with frustration. "Do you not _want _her to come with us? Or, wait, is this a trick? Are you telling me this because you're still on Wesker's side?"

"Claire!" Steve shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Come _on_, don't be ridiculous."

Immediately recognizing how silly her statement was, Claire lowered her eyes again. "…Sorry," she stated.

"Do you really even want to face Wesker again?" Steve asked, still holding on to Claire. "Wouldn't it be better to just leave now?"

"No," she said. "_No_, because after this, I want to kill him myself, that stupid bastard."

Steve sighed, considering the irony of that statement. Here she was grieving the loss of Rebecca, whom she just killed, but now she was making threats to kill Wesker. It was a different kind of murder, a revengeful kind that Steve guessed was supposed to be justifiable; however, there remained so many ironic qualities to how Claire was planning to cope with what she had done.

As Steve continued to mull over that, Claire carefully stood up, dusting herself off before wandering over to the small desk in the corner of the room. There were scattered files lying on it, along with a tipped over mug of coffee, staining particularly everything on the left portion of the desk. The hutch was full of books, mostly chemistry and biology orientated, but Claire also spotted a metal plate between them, acting as a bookend. It looked familiar, so she pulled it out, only to recognize the pattern of the eagle with the halberd. It almost made her smile, because she remembered the stupid Eagle Plate far too well, having to use it on the guillotine, among other places.

When she replaced the item back between the books, Claire turned around and said, "I wonder how long it will be before Chris realizes something is wrong. You know, after he hasn't heard from Rebecca in a while."

"Did he know she was on Rockfort?" Steve wondered.

She shrugged. "Rebecca started out in a facility in Europe," she admitted, "but she never told us she transferred. Probably for safety reasons, I suppose."

Part of Steve doubted that. After all, if Rebecca had been signing off on those papers to have prisoners used in trials, what else had she done? Sure, it wasn't as though she had much room to protest, given that she was undercover and couldn't exactly do anything that would reveal her motives, but hadn't she ever tried to get out of the more vulgar duties? It wasn't fair for Steve to be thinking that way, though. He didn't know Rebecca.

"I just want _you _to be all right," he decided to say, approaching Claire. "I know this is hard, but…" He trailed off, feeling Claire come closer, too, and pressing herself against him, initiating a hug.

"I will be," she assured him, and although Steve knew she was right, he began to feel her shaking in his arms again, the start of another breakdown. She heaved a bit, stuffing her face in his chest. "I just wish this didn't happen, Steve. I can deal with living with Wesker, and Sherry not knowing what side to choose, and…"

"…and me?" he asked, finishing for her.

She nodded. "Yes," she admitted between another sob. "I'm sorry…"

"It's fine," he dismissed, shaking his head.

As if to apologize further, Claire reached up, touching the side of the boy's face with her hand. She pulled away from his body, but only to focus on his eyes for a moment, seeing just how orange and luminescent they looked. Sometimes Claire forgot about his eyes, because in the daylight, they weren't obvious, and to anyone unsuspecting, they would've appeared to be a natural, brownish color. But, here—in the dark, cramped room, where the only source of light was the space between the floor and the door—his eyes were bright, but in no way threatening, and honestly, they relaxed Claire. For a moment, she almost forgot just how dirty and unkempt _she _must have appeared, in contrast to what she was considering the strong and elegant features on Steve.

She was hurting, and although she could physically _feel _the pain dwelling inside her, something was so soothing about being held by Steve, and when she craned her neck, pressing her lips against his, she immediately felt calmer, as though his collectivity was radiating off and pouring into her. Realizing this, she deepened the kiss, clasping her arms around Steve's body as she finally felt the boy respond to the lip-lock.

It felt good, and it felt sincere. She relaxed, transferring the lead to Steve after he trailed his hand down her body, resting it on her hip. Claire would've normally felt unaffected by such a worn move, but there was something much more powerful in Steve's actions, a sort of energy that felt warm and strong. She purposely took a step back, continuing to keep their mouths pressed together, but letting her body to hit the edge of the desk behind her. Steve took advantage of the newfound solidity, pushing himself against the girl's body and opening his mouth, allowing her tongue inside. She moaned into him, aligning their hips and beginning to grate his body.

They broke apart, catching their breaths quickly before recapturing each other's mouths in a mix of wet, messy kisses that felt just as enthusiastic on both of their parts. Steve was just beginning to push his hand into Claire's lose strains of hair when the Redfield's hand disappeared from his shoulder, sliding downward and unfastening his belt.

Startled, Steve pulled away, instantly stiffening. "_Woah_, wait," he said. "What are you doing, Claire?"

She gave him a frank look, but it was such a sad expression behind her wet cheeks and pained eyes.

"_Claire_," he repeated, taking a step back and letting her hands drop. "You know we can't do this."

"Don't lie to me, Steve," she managed, her appearance hardening. "I know it's what you want, and I'm offering, so why not?"

"_Because_," he argued, "I'm infected, and we don't have anything…"

Claire narrowed her eyes, and said, "I don't care…"

"_What_? Yes, you do!"

"I _don't_, Steve," she reaffirmed, walking forward and reconnecting their bodies. "Just pull out before… well, _you know_…"

"Claire!"

She placed her hands on either sides of his hips, fusing their lower halves to purposely gain a reaction from Steve. "I know there's still a risk, but it's minimal, so _please_…" she continued, pressing her face into his shoulder.

"…I… _Claire_, come on. Be reasonable here. You're only saying this because your mind is all fogged up right now. You're not yourself, and you _know it_, so stop." He pulled away. Again.

"What is wrong with you?" Claire demanded, allowing the separation. "You've been wanting this forever, Steve!"

"I know that, Claire!" he admitted, feeling color resonant in his cheeks. "And, I still do, but this is not the right time, and I know that deep down you recognize that, too! If I infect you, I would never forgive myself!"

"It wouldn't be the worst to happen," Claire said stubbornly, turning away. "At least, then, I wouldn't feel anything…"

"Jesus! What do you think I am, Claire? Some emotionless freak? I still feel pain and sadness! Being infected doesn't take away any of that! I still have a conscience, and it's that part of me that realizes what an awful person Wesker is… If I didn't _feel _anything, I wouldn't be trying so hard to make _you _feel better."

"This _would _make me feel better, Steve!" she shouted.

"Right now it would, but later on, you'd totally regret it, and I don't want to hurt you anymore than you already are!"

Claire opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by the static-filled buzz from their radios. "_Claire… Steve… Where are you two_…?" It was Wesker's voice on the line, just as distant and cold as always.

Both Claire and Steve froze, but the boy recognized a shift in Claire's expression, revealing she had somehow snapped back into reality, remembering the situation with Wesker and exactly what was happening on the island.

Steve unhooked his radio from his side and cleared his throat. "…We're in some building near the labs," he replied. "It's one of the newer buildings."

"Well, have you found anything?" the man asked, annoyed.

"No," Steve said.

"Have you fully searched the building?"

Steve gaped for a moment. "Well, uh… no…" he stuttered, and he heard the man sigh on the other line.

"I see the building you're talking about," he said. "Meet me at the entrance. We'll search together_._"

"Together?" Steve echoed. "_Why_?"

"Because obviously keeping Claire and you together is causing some distraction."

Again, Claire and him froze, but they exchanged a quick look, a common questioning whether Wesker was just being snide or if he somehow _knew_ what had just transpired between the two of them. Had Wesker been stalking around the island, having found Rebecca Chambers' body and happily prided himself over what he had allowed Claire to do? Steve suddenly had to wonder if Rebecca's demise had been a part of Wesker's plan, too. Steve didn't doubt Wesker would've gotten off just on the mindfuck of Claire having agreed to come to Rockfort only to discover Chris _wasn't _there, but the boy suspected there was something more underlying what had happened. Although, maybe that was all a little farfetched… After all, how would Wesker have known Claire and Rebecca would even run into each other, or that Rebecca would admit to signing off on those papers? Better yet, how would Wesker even know they would run into someone that would check to see if Chris actually had been a prisoner on the island?

Having let his mind wander, Steve was startled when he heard the door being opened. He jumped—as did Claire—and they both eyed the door, watching as Wesker appeared in the doorway with a suspicious look printed on his face.

"Why are you two in here?" he asked.

"We're searching for that stupid computer!" Steve quickly said, and it came out angry enough because it _was _partially true.

"Well, why the hell was the door closed?"

"It just shut, that's—" Steve cut himself off when he saw Claire take a step forward.

"I know what you're expecting," she spat at him, her gaze firm on Wesker. "But, I don't care about your _sick _mind games anymore."

"Oh, whatever could you be talking about? And, why such a sad face, Claire?"

Steve sighed, knowing that malicious tone in Wesker's voice all too well.

"Don't even give me that!" Claire yelled. "You're a sick bastard, and your tricks are _never _going to work on me _ever again_!"

Wesker smirked. "You sound so sure of yourself," he remarked. "But, honestly, Claire, I was unaware that Chambers girl was even on the island. You didn't have to go that far, now did you? I would've been more than happy to take care of her myself."

"_Shut up_!" Claire screamed. "What I did was horrible, but it was in no way more horrible than everything you've done, you self-righteous bastard!"

Steve shifted. "How did you know Claire was responsible…?" he asked, referring to Rebecca.

"One of my men had a run-in with that woman you befriended. She explained it in exchange for her safety."

"Then… then, why was it so important for Claire to come to Rockfort?" Steve demanded. "If you didn't know Rebecca was here and had no idea Claire would hurt her, then what the fuck was so important to drag her along for?"

"Everything," the man said, "and I'm sure Claire can explain it all to you, Steven. What's going on in her head right now is only a benefit to me. After all, I would've never been able to invoke such strong confliction elsewhere."

"This was all just a pathetic mindfuck for you?" Steve growled. "You sick freak!"

"Well, it worked out better than expected," Wesker admitted with a scoff. "I had a few… _other_… things planned, but I prefer _this _outcome much more."

Claire bit her bottom lip, muttering a curse. "I know you think you've won, Wesker, but you _haven't_. I will get things to work out my way… Just wait, you fucking bastard…"

"Do you really think?" Wesker wondered, smirking. "Adorable. But, _now_, I think my work with you is done, Claire. So, if you don't mind, I'm having you escorted back to the plane. Steve, you're coming with me. The T-A.L.O.S. computer is undoubtedly located within this building."

"_What_? No way!" Steve argued.

Wesker turned his head, peering over the doorframe and seeing some of his men entering the building. "Good," he remarked, stepping out into the hall. "I want you to take Miss Redfield back to the plane," he explained to the group of men, all of whom nodded quickly in understanding. "Two of you will have to supervise her until we're ready to leave the island."

"I'm not going," Claire stated, pushing her way into the hall. "If you wanted me here so fucking bad, then _fine_, I'm here."

"That's not necessary," Wesker insisted. "I got what I want from you, but you're dispensable at the moment." The man made a gesture with his hand, ordering the men to take Claire. "Steven and I will finish things up here."

"Like hell we will!" the boy barked, trying to get to Claire as the men took hold of her.

Wesker quickly blocked his path, pushing him back. "You have work to do, Steve," he said calmly.

"If Claire's going back, then I am, too!" he shouted, watching as Claire elbowed one of the men in the chest, signaling for them not to be so rough on her. She wasn't struggling in their grasps, and Steve knew it was because she was tired.

"We found the combat data on the T-A.L.O.S. Tyrant," Wesker said, immediately switching subjects once Claire had been dragged out of the building. "In one experiment, she was put up against a special forces unit, consisting of 12 soldiers. Her kill ratio was 100 percent in under three minutes. Remarkable, isn't it?"

"Hardly," Steve commented, glaring at him. "Why do you need to find this stupid computer if you already have the information you need?"

"Because the computer will be located near the Tyrant," Wesker reasoned, beginning to walk down the corridor and past a variety of opened offices. "Aren't you eager to see how Virginia has changed since you last saw her?"

"Not fucking really, no," Steve said, hesitantly following him down the hall. "Didn't you say you hated the guy who started this project? If that's true, why are you so obsessed with it?"

"I'm hardly obsessed, Steven," Wesker told him. "And, no, Sergei and I did not get along. But, that doesn't mean his work isn't worth taking notice of, right?"

"You've seen some of his shit before?" Steve asked, catching up with the man.

"Yes," the man said. "He redesigned the T-103 models. You've probably seen a picture of the better known T-103 model from the files I gave Claire. It was referred to as Mr. X."

"Okay, yeah," he said, nodding. Steve remembered the green coat it was wearing in the pictures and it's bald, gray head. It was really fucking hideous. "So, by _redesigned_ you mean this Sergei guy made them look less like ugly fucks?"

"I suppose," Wesker said. "He made two, and titled them _Ivan_. He used them as bodyguards for whatever reason. I fought one near the Arklay Mountains the day before everything happened in the Spencer Mansion, and judging from my experience, I would say Sergei accomplished what he wished."

"What, were you two, like, butt-buddies, or something?"

Wesker managed to scoff at this when they turned a corner in the corridor. "No, far from that, Steven. Sergei used to be a military colonel from the Soviet Union, and the man often thought he was the be-all, end-all of Umbrella after he was hired by Spencer."

"O_hhh_, I get it," Steve said, grinning. "Did he hurt your _wittle_ feelings when you were still working for them?"

"He was endlessly loyal to Spencer," Wesker explained, "and he thrived on proving his research was better than the rest of ours, particularly William's."

"Sherry's dad?"

"Yes," Wesker told him. "Sergei often made things difficult for William and I during our research, and that's why we did not get along with that cocky Russian bastard."

"Geez, I never thought I'd see you so intimidated by someone," Steve commented, scratching the back of his head.

"It's hardly intimidation," he remarked. "But, I find it quite valuable to rip away Sergei's research from Umbrella so as to benefit The Agency."

"Hmph, sounds like this is more personal than anything else."

Wesker and Steve stopped when they came across a large electric door. Just as all the other electronic locks on the island, this one had been set off to allow exiting for emergency evacuation. Wesker approached the small panel, pressing the button that slid the doors open. As expected, it led to a lab, but it was far more complex than the ones Steve had previously seen on Rockfort. It was obvious that the T-A.L.O.S. experiments required much more equipment than any research Alexia and Alfred had conducted on the island.

Steve wandered over to a bulky piece of equipment pressed against the east wall, examining it carefully. There was a small computer screen in the middle, but the rest of the thing was adorned with strange buttons and glass windows. Steve wondered whether this was supposed to be the computer they were looking for, or if it was just something else used for the T-A.L.O.S. trials.

"Over here," Wesker called, having walked to the other side of the lab where a large capsule was located. "Such a shame, Steven. You're in a room with a fellow T-Veronica experiment, and you can't even _feel _her. You've done nothing to enhance your powers as a Tyrant."

"Well, I don't fucking want to _feel _anything related to this damn virus," the boy snarked, folding his arms and walking over to the capsule. He peered inside, seeing the barely recognizable Tyrant. "Jesus, what the hell did they do since Claire and I first saw her?"

"Well, for one," Wesker pointed out, "they've attached a MRL to her arm, and her upper-body is covered in battle armor."

Steve furrowed his brow, examining the Tyrant further. He recalled how the heart was visible through her chest, beating so rapidly at the time. But, now, he couldn't see it, and it was hard to even tell the Tyrant used to be a _woman_. The legs had grown to a considerable size, and although the head remained bald, it had been covered by some sort of helmet and probed with wires. It didn't look like anything Umbrella would ever consider creating, and that's what frightened Steve the most. They _were_ advancing in their research, and although the government was keeping such a close eye on their activities these days, the company just wasn't letting up; they were determined to make the greatest B.O.W. in the world.

"That Sergei guy is _fucked_ up," the boy noted, dragging his eyes away from the creature formerly known as Virginia Waters. "I don't even know the asshole, but judging from _this creation_, the guy probably has some fucked up things going on in his head."

Examining the brightly red-lit control panel next to the capsule, Wesker shrugged and asked, "What do you say, Steven? Do you think we can defeat her?"

"E-Excuse me?" Steve stuttered, gaping at Wesker. "What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"She's hardly complete," the man stated, "but she's halfway there, and considering the MRL has been loaded with missiles, I think it would be a great opportunity to see just how far Umbrella has gotten with their dear T-A.L.O.S. project."

"Dude, I am not fighting that thing!"

Wesker glanced up at Steve for a moment, then refocused his attention on the control panel. He calmly pressed one of the buttons.

"What the fuck did you just push?" Steve yelled, running over to the control panel in a panic. But, before he had a chance to reverse anything, he heard the capsule begin to drain. "_Holy shit_!" he screamed, backing away.

"Relax," Wesker suggested, casually removing his leather gloves and placing them in his pocket. "It's two against one. We can't possibly lose. That is, of course, unless you choose not to put up a fight."

Steve swallowed hard, watching the liquid inside the capsule disappear. Wesker pressed another button before backing away himself, standing next to Steve and watching the display, too. A loud siren rang, signaling the initiation just as the glass began lowering, emitting an ironically soothing shifting sound. Steve grabbed his gun from his holster, already preparing to shoot the thing. Wesker, however, had traveled back over to the entrance of the lab, busy pressing multiple buttons over on the computer Steve had previously examined.

"What the hell are you doing?" Steve demanded, keeping his eyes glued on the Tyrant.

"She's controlled by this computer here," Wesker reminded Steve. "We could easily just destroy it, and that would be the end of her, but I think it's much more fun to program her to want to attack us."

"Dude!" Steve shouted, rushing over to where Wesker was standing. He shoved the man away from the computer. "Do you _want _me dead?"

"Well, if you want an honest answer, Steven, _no_. But, if you end up dead after this, I don't think I'll have much trouble getting over it. Claire, on the other hand…"

"Shut the hell up about her," the boy snapped.

"Well, you don't want her to grieve _another _loss, do you? I think it would be in everyone's best interests if you help put this creature to rest."

As if on cue to Wesker's words, the lights within the capsule sparked to life, an obvious electric current running through the wires that connected to the helmet on the Tyrant's head. Immediately, its eyes flickered open and there was little reservation in the creature's movements as it pulled its body away from the capsule, stepping down and detaching itself from the wires.

"Pay attention, Steven," Wesker cautioned, finally pulling out his own gun—a Magnum, much stronger than Steve's M93R—and aiming it toward the Tyrant.

The Tyrant moved, and it wasn't at all what Steve was expecting. The creatures he had seen before were slow and careful, but _this thing_ ran, spotting its target and going after it the moment it registered in its head. Wesker was quick to dodge the attack, but Steve, having never guessed a Tyrant could move that fast, was immediately hit by the creature's blow. He flew backwards, slamming into the equipment behind him.

"Pathetic," Wesker called out, beginning to shoot the Tyrant with his Magnum.

"Fuck you!" Steve screamed, hobbling to his feet and clearing his head. His vision was blurry, but he saw where the Tyrant was attacking, and he aimed his gun that way, shooting the thing three times before dodging its next attack by jumping onto the nearest desk.

Wesker shot the thing once more, then paused to watch the creature lift its right arm, positioning the large MRL in his direction. Steve shouted a warning to the blonde just as the Tyrant fired the first missile, but Wesker had already jumped, using the control panel to support his skillful leap in the opposite direction. The blast from the rocket launcher shot a large hole in the north wall, destroying the surrounding equipment and sending everything up in smoke. Both Wesker and Steve used the newly-created path to their advantage, running through the gaping hole to the outside of the labs.

The Tyrant followed, storming through the hole and immediately firing another blast. Wesker dodged in one direction while Steve dodged in the other, sending the missile between them and hitting one of the military buildings in the distance.

"It only has two fucking missiles left," Steve shouted, firing his gun at the Tyrant's exposed head. He was down to two bullets. He had to use them carefully.

Wesker was busy loading a new round of bullets into his Magnum, having already used up his previous six. He opened fire on the Tyrant, shooting its chest, where the armor rested. Steve panicked, unsure why the man was aiming there, but he continued to move, unwilling to stand in one spot as the Tyrant remained on its feet, dashing in every direction in a desperate attempt to attack its prey.

_We're infected with the same virus_, Steve reminded himself. _But, at this point—with it controlled by a computer—I don't think that matters…_

"Why the hell are you shooting the armor, asshole?" Steve shrieked, running behind a tipped over crate.

"I want to see it transform," Wesker told him, remaining calm. "She might mutate if the armor falls off."

"Well, _fuck that_!" Steve yelled, firing his remaining bullets at the creature's head. He managed to achieve a good shot between its eyes, but something in the boy told him that barely mattered. The creature probably couldn't even _see_; its senses were based on instinct, both primal and computer-generated.

Out of ammo, Steve had no choice but to continue running. He didn't look behind him, far too scared the thing would be _right there_ to greet him. But, he was beginning to feel it: both its rocketing movements and the _stomping _on the ground as it ran. He heard the creature lift its arm, and the boy's first instinct was to dodge, so he jumped, hauling his body behind a concrete wall the Tyrant had destroyed in its wrath. But, it was a stupid choice, because the creature still fired in his direction, and the missile burst through the wall, shaking the loose pavement beneath Steve and tearing the cement.

Steve grunted, covering his head as he positioned himself against the wall, avoiding most of the blow but still feeling the remaining quivers of the fire. A fragment from the top of the wall fell, cutting through the boy's left arm and leaving a deep gash. He had no time to wallow, though—he decided to run, holding his cut and gaining further distance from the Tyrant. He heard Wesker fire more shots—precisely _three_—and from the deep, penetrating noise of metal into flesh, Steve knew the man had decided to switch to headshots rather than destroying the armor.

"_Steven_, here," the man called out, unfastening a spare 9mm Beretta from his holster and throwing it in Steve's direction.

The boy muttered a curse, thinking that it was a little late for _that_ as he scooped up the gun, immediately firing several shots into the Tyrant's fleshy head. He watched Wesker dodge the last missile from the MRL and then pause to focus on something he spotted behind the creature's path.

"Shoot those barrels," the man suggested, aiming his Magnum near a collection of red gasoline tanks. "On three, Steve," he added, keeping his aim even as he started to run, keeping the Tyrant at a good distance.

Steve felt dizzy, but he allowed himself to focus, shaking off the blur and aiming toward the barrels. He heard Wesker begin to count, and although Steve fired a little too early, the explosion set off perfectly in conjunction with Wesker's shot. The three barrels burst into flames, knocking down the Tyrant in its detonation and tearing through both the armor and flesh.

It was over. Steve watched the thing attempt to pull itself up, but each straining of the muscles became weaker, and it collapsed completely, its head hitting the gravel in a careful _scrunch_-sound.

Steve threw his gun on the ground and returned to holding his arm. He felt the blood beneath his fingers and winced. It stung, and he could feel the cement fragments kneading into the wound, but he bit his lip, silencing the next grunt that was trying to escape.

"The armor didn't even tear," Wesker said from a distance, examining the Tyrant's body. He was kneeling, poking at the corpse curiously. "What a shame."

"Aren't you going to dissect it so you can bring back a precious sample?" Steve asked bitterly, heaving a bit as he tried to put more pressure on his arm.

"Why would we need to do that?" Wesker wondered. "She was barely made of anything new. Just a computer chip and armor." He stood back up, wiping away some of the Tyrant's flesh from his hand.

"Goddammit," Steve cursed lowly, grimacing from the pain.

Wesker approached the boy and looked at his bloody arm thoughtfully. "You're hurt," he noted plainly.

"No-fucking-_duh_," the boy seethed, clutching his arm and hissing in pain. "Fuck you, and your stupid combat data!" He turned, attempting to walk away, but Wesker grabbed him, pulling him back and stilling the boy. "What the fuck?" Steve growled, trying to pull away.

"Your blood's infected, Steve," Wesker reminded him.

Steve narrowed his eyes, partially due to the embarrassment of forgetting that and partially due to the sudden warmth he felt transferring from Wesker's strong hold on his upper-arm. "Let go," the boy calmly said.

Wesker ignored him and roughly rolled up Steve's jacket sleeve, examining the wound carefully. "You wouldn't want to go back to the plane and infect your dear Claire, would you?"

Steve said nothing, and instead, allowed Wesker to touch his wound with his bare hands. He cringed, feeling the man press into the large cut with his dull fingernails. He tried to distract himself from the feeling, focusing on the gray smoke that was coming from the labs, dancing up into the sky. He thought he could smell the burnt flesh of the T-A.L.O.S. Tyrant, but he was immediately distracted by the scent of blood. Blood that _wasn't_ his. He looked down at Wesker's leg, seeing a tear in the man's black pants. Blood was leaking out from a rather noticeable wound, and Steve frowned.

"Dude, you're bleeding, too," he said dumbly.

Wesker ignored the boy and continued to focus his attention on Steve's wound. The boy was about to tell Wesker he would just bandage it up himself, but before he had the chance, Steve felt the man lean down, pressing his mouth against his wound and _sucking _at it.

"_What the fuck_!" Steve screamed, pulling his arm away and backing up. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, gaping widely as he stared at the blonde's now blood soaked mouth.

"It needs to stop bleeding before we go back to the plane."

"And, your brilliant plan is to suck it all out? What the hell!"

Wesker ignored Steve again, walking forward and grabbing the boy's arm. He pressed his mouth against the wound once more, continuing where he left off and hearing Steve hiss in protest. The boy writhed for a moment, the injury stinging even more. A second later, the blonde removed his mouth and spit the blood on the ground, but not before intentionally licking against the thin opening of the gash.

The man dug around in his holster for a second, finding a convenient roll of gauze. Steve made an attempt to grab it, but Wesker just dropped it on the ground—along with his Magnum—and reached for the boy's arm again. Steve muttered something, but didn't struggle when he felt Wesker's mouth on his skin once again. It was stinging far too much from the air for Steve to protest the warmth of Wesker's lips. _God,_ the man's mouth was so moist and _heated_, and Steve could feel the rushing familiarity of the virus running through the blonde's veins. They were so much alike in that sense, and while Steve wanted so desperately to be sickened by it, right now, he was slowly enthralled by the sensation of the man's lips brushing against his open wound.

Just as he was relaxing into it, focusing on the wet slither of Wesker's tongue, the man tore his mouth away, wiping away the saliva he left behind on the boy's skin.

Steve heaved a small sob, but even he himself couldn't tell whether it was from pain or violation. Or, maybe even something else. Regardless, the boy grabbed the gauze from the ground, messily tying it around his arm.

"Fuckin' fag," he hissed bitterly, throwing the gauze in Wesker's direction.

Wesker bent down to pick it up, wrapping a fair amount around his calf after wiping away the excess blood with his shirt sleeve. He stood back up and wiped the blood—_Steve's _blood—from his mouth. "Let's get back to the plane," he said. "Claire's waiting for you."

**End of Chapter Thirteen**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen:**

**The Trick to This Place is Slow Approach**

xxxxx

Sherry had a conventional take on what a scientist was supposed to act and look like, and she based most of it on memories of her mother and father. They were always tired and moody, and most of the time, they smelt like coffee and latex gloves. And, although Sherry rarely thought of Wesker as a scientist _per se_, she still had vague memories of interacting with him when she was much younger, such as when William brought her to the labs just before dropping her off at school. It was there she saw Wesker in his lab coat, surrounded by an environment that made his occupation look so _official_. Nowadays, Wesker rarely wore a lab coat, and while Sherry sometimes thought of him as a soldier—based on The Agency's various "missions"—in the end, she considered him to be a researcher. Not a scientist, but a _researcher_. Because, for some reason, that term just suited him better.

But, Sherry had _no idea _what to call herself. Researcher? Too soon. Scientist? Too creepy. Lab assistant? Too lame. Initially, part of her feared maybe she just wasn't cut out for the whole laboratory setting, but she was amazed how quickly she managed to adjust to the environment, even the vulgar aspects. Maybe Raccoon City numbed her conscience rather than strengthened it, because Sherry found herself unable to look away at the human test subjects The Agency kept in the labs. She wanted to be disappointed in herself, but something was preventing her…

"Miss Birkin."

Sherry looked up from the stool she was sitting at, eyeing the man who called out to her. "Um, yeah?" she asked hesitantly. She may have been detached by the prospect of running experiments, but she hated being addressed as _Miss_ when everyone was so blatantly older than her.

"I have something for you," the man explained, placing a manila folder on the table. "It just arrived at the facility. It's research on something called _T-A.L.O.S._, Umbrella's latest project."

Sherry opened the file curiously. "Isn't this what Albert—_uh, _Wesker, I mean—was looking for on Rockfort?" She had only heard this through the grapevine, but whatever this T-A.L.O.S. thing was, Sherry had to admit she was interested, especially since Umbrella initially had it under the name of "TV-002."

"Yes," he said, nodding. "Dr. Wesker and the men just returned a few minutes ago. He had this sent down immediately."

Sherry perked up. "They're back?"

The man nodded again. "A few soldiers were injured on the mission, so they're upstairs at the hospital."

The girl frowned. "Okay, thanks," she said, rising from her seat. "I'll look at these later. I'm going to go check on them." Sherry scooted the file aside, then left the lab, pulling off the dumb lab coat she had been forced to wear and finding her way to the elevator.

It all felt really fucking weird. Here she was just _walking _around The Agency's facility, and less than a week ago she had to be escorted around the building. The whole concept seemed so official, but Sherry was far from being a valued employee to the company, or something retarded like that. She was still being trained, and it would be a long time before she had the chance to do anything meaningful for The Agency. She had spent the last two days doing nothing but reading over files and being taught what to do in case of a hazardous outbreak, among other boring things. It wasn't nearly as exciting as she hoped, but she supposed she just had to be patient.

When Sherry reached the hospital level, she immediately spotted Steve standing in front of an observation window, peeking in curiously, though admittedly anxiously. She approached him, jabbing him in the side when he didn't notice her presence.

"Oww, _fuck_!" he yelled, jumping back and staring at the girl. "Oh, it's you…"

"Yeah, it sure is," she acknowledged, raising at eyebrow when she noticed his wounded arm. "Hey, are you okay?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, just _fucking fine_," he glowered.

Sherry sighed. "Okay, what happened now?"

"Wesker tricked her…" he began lowly. "He planted that fucking file in his room for her to find!" The boy moved away from the window, huffing loudly and kicking one of the stray carts of equipment in the hall.

Sherry peered into the observation window Steve had been looking into, and she saw Claire inside. There was a female doctor with a clipboard, apparently asking Claire questions. Sherry guessed she was getting another checkup. When she turned to look at Steve, she just frowned, not knowing what to say.

"I guess I should've pressed harder about how suspicious it was," Sherry said distantly. "So, Chris wasn't even on the island, I presume? That must've really pissed off Claire."

Steve laughed in mockery. "Pissed her off? Fuck, Sherry, you don't even know. She flipped out, because she thought Chris died… And, there was this girl on the island, someone Claire knew. She was working undercover, and Claire thought she had something to do with Chris' death, and…" He trailed off, not knowing how to finish.

"And, _what_, Steve?" Sherry asked. "She killed her? Come on, tell me."

Steve looked up at Sherry, his expression drained.

"Oh…" Sherry voiced, rubbing the back of her head. "Well, Claire looks pretty fine now. She can't blame herself."

"Fine!" Steve echoed. "You think she's fine? What the hell is wrong with you, Sherry?"

"Come on, it's Wesker. You can't say you didn't see _something_ like this coming…"

"You fucking cunt!" Steve yelled, lunging forward and grabbing the girl by her shoulders. "You're just like him!" he continued, pressing his fingers into her neck. "You don't even care about Claire anymore! Even though she saved your life countless times in Raccoon City, you little bitch!"

"S-Steve!" Sherry screamed, writhing under his grip.

"You don't even care!" he repeated, shaking her violently in his hands.

"Fuck, Steve, _stop it_!" she grunted, her eyes widening as he pressed deeper. "_Ugh_, stop! Steve!"

Steve barely heard her. With his hands wrapped around her neck, he instantly felt her blood running through her veins, _human _and untouched. When the girl kicked his side, squirming the best she could, Steve dropped her, but only to throw her to the ground and topple over her body. He transferred to attention to her shoulders, pushing onto them and feeling the way the bones aligned against her skin, feeling the way her heart beat in fear and uncertainty. She was so warm, so goddamn _human_. She was still screaming and kicking beneath him, her hands wrapped around his wrists as she tried so desperately to pull his grip away.

Sherry managed to elbow him in the face when she found a good angle. But, this only caused Steve more distraction, and he moved above her body, his knees grinding into her thighs. It was enough to make the girl scream again, kicking violently. "Ugh! Steve!" she wailed, tears forming in her eyes.

"Steven, let go of her!"

The boy looked up, seeing Wesker at the end of the corridor. His voice was enough to break Steve out of his trance, and soon, he felt the man roughly rip him away from Sherry, throwing him back against the wall.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Wesker demanded, keeping him pinned to the wall with one hand.

"Me! What's wrong with _me_?" Steve yelled. "She's just like you! You made her into a clone of yourself, are you fucking happy now? She's just like her father!"

"Steven, you didn't even know William," the man hissed.

Behind them, Sherry stumbled to her feet, rubbing her sore neck and shoulders. "You're a freak, Steve!" she declared, approaching with little reservation. "I hope Albert kills you, you sick fuck!" She turned, ready to walk away.

"Sherry," Wesker called out, releasing Steve. "Are you all right?"

Sherry paused, looking at the man hesitantly. "I'm… fine…" she said, averting her eyes.

"If you're done at the labs, then get your things from the dorms and wait in the lobby. We're going back to the house."

Sherry nodded, leaving afterward, still in a huff.

"I'm sorry I touched your pure, innocent daughter," Steve seethed.

Wesker eyed the boy carefully, knowing his words were a reference to the first time Sherry and him met at the facility. The man would've been amused by this at any other time, but right now, he was still furious at Steve, furious he had lost control of himself, furious he decided to take his rage out on _Sherry_.

"You have no right to touch her," Wesker stated coldly.

"I couldn't help it!" Steve argued. "I suddenly realized how fucking human she was, and it just… it made me sick!"

"Oh, so now humanity makes you sick? I thought that's what attracted you to Claire."

Steve faltered. "It is," he admitted. "But, not Sherry. She's so fucking snide! Just like you!"

"Then, I've been raising her well."

"Yeah? Well, newsflash, Wesker: She's not your daughter! So, stop being so fucking protective of her!"

"She's in my care," the man noted, "and I won't have _you _of all people trying to murder her."

"Fuck you!" Steve yelled.

Wesker backhanded the boy, a humiliating but strong blow to Steve's face. He stumbled backward, hitting the wall again and letting out a frustrated wail. As soon as he realized what happened, the boy leapt forward, pushing himself against Wesker and knocking the two to the floor. The blonde was quick to get another punch in, and Steve fell, landing on his back and leaving him open for several more blows from Wesker. They struggled for several more minutes, attempting to both strangle and dominate one another. Eventually, when Wesker had the boy pinned, having given him a hard blow to the nose, the boy stilled.

Wesker quickly got up from the floor, dusting off his knees and staring down at him. "You're pathetic, Steven," he commented.

Steve stayed on the ground, wincing when he felt blood drip from his nose. "Leave me the hell alone!" he cried, sitting up and pressing his face to his knees.

"Don't expect me to lap up your wounds this time, Steve."

"I wouldn't want you to, you fucking fag!" Steve bellowed.

"I should've never saved your life." The man shifted, briefly circling Steve. "You don't even know what you want. You can't distinguish between wanting humanity and wanting your own infected blood. You're a miserable Tyrant."

"Leave me alone!" the boy repeated, his volume higher.

"Gladly," he agreed, walking past the boy and entering the observation room Claire had been admitted into. She wouldn't have been able to see either fights—the window was a two-way mirror—but judging from her curious and alert expression when the man entered, Wesker guessed she knew something was going on outside.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded, glaring at the man.

Wesker adjusted the wrinkles in his clothing. "Don't worry about it," he said dully, walking over to the doctor in the room. "Is everything fine?" he asked.

The female doctor nodded, handing over the clipboard. "She's fine," she explained, "but she's going to need rest. She's very irritable."

Wesker scoffed, dismissing the woman from the room and approaching the small bed Claire was sitting at. She was still glaring at him, the kind of look you'd give your ex-boyfriend from across the classroom. Claire and Steve really were alike sometimes: equally immature when it came to a situation they couldn't control. Wesker had to wonder when the hell Claire became like that, because judging from her experiences in both Raccoon City and Rockfort, there was no element of juvenile behavior. Perhaps it was a recent development, caused by the situation she found herself experiencing within the last month. He was actually quite pleased to have broken the Redfield like that. It was a sign he could do so much more so long as he was patient.

"You're fine, Claire," the man said, showing her the clipboard. "No harm done to you on the island."

Claire rolled down her sleeves. "No physical harm," she added lowly.

"Rebecca always was the weakest of you S.T.A.R.S. members. I can't say I'm surprised she was the first one of you survivors to go. I'm sure Barry will be next."

"How dare you!" Claire yelled, jumping off the bed and grimacing at him. "You're such a bastard…"

"Is this any way to treat your already irritable personality?" the man asked, taking a stethoscopefrom the counter and walking back over to the girl. He reached in, attempting to press the metal amplifier against her chest.

Claire immediately balked back, slapping away his hand and shouting, "Don't even think about touching me!"

Wesker laughed beneath his breath. "I just want to check your heart rate, Claire," he said easily, attempting once more to press it against her chest. She allowed it this time, but instantly went stiff when the cold metal touched her exposed skin. "Take a deep breath," he said, and when she did so, he moved the amplifier, listening in another part of her chest.

"So?" Claire wondered when the man broke away. "What's the verdict?" She climbed back on the bed, feeling weak as she continued to stand.

"Your heart rate is fast," he told her. "You need to calm down."

"I'm calm!" she shouted. "I just can't relax when I have the image of murdering one of my best friends running through my head!"

"You hardly knew Rebecca," Wesker muttered in annoyance. "Your brother was far more close to her. You knew her for, what, a few months? Please, don't mock the dead."

Claire seethed loudly. "Get out of here," she hissed, pulling the sheets out from beneath her and climbing fully into bed. "I'm going to get my _precious _rest now."

Wesker placed the stethoscope down, but kept the clipboard as he walked out of the room. In the hallway, he noticed Steve had disappeared from the floor. He smirked, but distantly wondered where the boy had run off to. The kid was such a fucking pussy, he probably went down to the lobby to find Sherry and apologize. Wesker may have disapproved for the way Steve had attacked Sherry, but there was no need to _apologize _for it.

Fortunately, Wesker found the boy sitting in the waiting area, slumped over with a tissue pressed against his bloody nose. As soon as Steve caught Wesker's gaze, he perked up, instantly demanding, "How's Claire?"

Apparently the boy had calmed down. Wesker guessed he wasn't even going to mention their brief scuffle, either too embarrassed by the fact he had decidedly _lost_ or just not wanting to relive it. He was obviously still pissed, though and from the stiff positioning of his back, Wesker could tell he was incredibly tense, trying to control his anger.

"She's fine," Wesker told him. "In fact, I just had my hand up her blouse a second ago."

Steve balked, and his anger instantly rose again. "Wait, _what_? You son of a—!"

"I was checking her heart rate," Wesker clarified, a malicious smirk forming on his lips.

Steve scowled, not amused by the joke. Or whatever it was supposed to be. "Fucker…" he muttered coldly, averting his gaze.

"As if I would actually be interested in a _Redfield_," the man scoffed.

The boy frowned, still not amused. "As if you would actually be interested in a _female_," he corrected, rolling his eyes in a huff.

Wesker looked at the boy curiously. "Now, why would you ever say a thing like that?" he asked.

"Well, there's your flaming homosexuality, for one," the boy spat, removing the tissue from under his nose. "Then, you trying to suck my blood like a fucking vampire. And, your obsession with things that used to belong to Birkin."

The man shook his head. "Please, Steven, don't embarrass yourself."

"Stop denying it!" Steve yelled, sincerely angry.

"I don't recall denying anything," he countered, taking a look at the clipboard he held. He still needed to make a note regarding Claire's heart rate.

"So, you're admitting it, then?"

Wesker sighed, annoyed. "Steven, please, I'm trying to concentrate," he said, jotting something down on the paper.

"_No_!" the boy yelled, knocking the clipboard out of the blonde's grip. "You're going to fucking answer me! I'm sick of your mind games! You've been doing this since the beginning, telling me that this disgusting virus in me makes me want to feel connected to other Tyrants! And, then, you go and say it makes me want to feel humanity! So, _which is it_, you stupid asshole?"

The blonde sighed, giving him a deadpanned look. He wasn't in the mood to fight the boy again. "Both, Steve," he answered, bending down to retrieve the clipboard. "Haven't you figured that out already?"

"Stop patronizing me!" he yelled.

Wesker set down his clipboard on an empty chair and approached Steve carefully. "If you want Claire so badly," he began, closing some space between them, "then why haven't you two fucked?"

Steve pushed the man away, uncomfortable by his close proximity. "Because it's what's best!" he explained angrily. "If Claire wants to wait, I'm going to respect that!"

"That's how it works, then? Claire tells you she wants to wait, and you obediently agree? How pathetic, Steven."

"Pathetic? _Me_? That's fucking genius, considering it's _you _who's been using Sherry to fill some stupid void in your heart regarding her father!"

Wesker paused, eyeing Steve carefully.

"You think I'm so stupid I can't figure it out?" the boy yelled. "It's been obvious since day one! You're so protective over her because she's your precious Birkin's daughter!"

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Steven," the man said calmly.

"Oh, really? Why else is she here, then? Umbrella doesn't want her! Not nearly as bad as you've been trying to make her believe!"

Wesker grabbed Steve's shirt collar. "Again: you have no idea what you're talking about. So, shut your fucking mouth before you regret everything you just said."

"Go ahead, continue to deny it!"

"And, _you_, Steven, can continue to deny what you so desperately want from Claire. So, go, Steve, go fulfill what you want from her. She's vulnerable, and you know she'll give you it." He released the boy, pushing him aside.

"You're a fucking fag!" Steve jeered loudly.

Wesker turned to face the boy one last time. "I'm leaving Claire here overnight," he said, his tone back to normal. "You're staying, too. I don't want you near Sherry right now."

"I don't even _want _to be around her! I'm going to find Claire!" the boy huffed, attempting to walk away.

Wesker grabbed the boy. "What is your problem, Steven?" he demanded. "Claire is not some saint who just dropped down from heaven! And, as far as I know, you have to be _dead_ before you qualify for sainthood!"

"Is that a threat?" the boy spat, backing up. "Because if you even touch Claire—!"

"And, you have the right to touch Sherry?" the man countered. "Just _go_," he said, pushing past the boy. "Submit to Claire's pathetic humanity." And, with that, the man finally left.

xxxxx

Back at the house, Sherry was reading over the T-A.L.O.S. files one of the men had given her earlier. Wesker was busy making coffee in the kitchen, and while Sherry thought it actually _did _smell pretty damn good, she decided she was never going to start drinking it. It would've made her fall into the final stereotype of being a researcher, and she wasn't ready for that, at least not yet. She was currently reading about how the T-A.L.O.S. was controlled by a computer chip in its brain, and how a MRL would be attached to every model. She frowned at the image of that in her head, and she wondered why Umbrella stopped focusing on trying to develop Tyrants that could pass as humans and instead turned their attention to _this_. Maybe it had something to do with the Sergei guy, who was in charge of the project.

"So," Sherry began, calling out to Wesker in the kitchen, "Sergei was a Soviet military colonel, is that it?" Wesker appeared from the kitchen, holding two mugs. Sherry was about to protest, reaffirming her stance on coffee, but when the man set one of the mugs down and the girl saw it was tea, her expression softened. "You don't have to treat me like I'm dying," she said. "Steve didn't hurt me that bad."

"It's not that," Wesker assured her, taking a seat on the other couch. "I just find it is helpful to have caffeine when doing work. Tea has caffeine, too, Sherry."

Sherry looked at the man for a long moment, wondering whether he was lying, and this was actually supposed to be an act of generosity. She doubted it, though. Wesker may have protected her from Steve, but he wasn't ready to start showing all his emotions.

"Speaking of which," she then said, "when do you think Claire and Steve will come back to the house?"

"Once Steve learns to behave himself, I suppose," Wesker offered. "And, Claire… Well, she's irritable right now, but once she comes back, as long as she makes her bed and cleans up after herself, there shouldn't be a problem with her living here again."

"Except maybe the fact she's traumatized from murdering her friend…"

Wesker scoffed. "Claire and Rebecca barely knew each other. And, besides, Steve was right there when it happened, and he didn't try to stop Claire. They're both equally responsible."

"And, what about you?" Sherry wondered, pursing her lips.

"Well, believe it or not, I had no idea Rebecca was even on the island. Her death was not a part of my plans." He paused to take a sip of his coffee before adding, "Not that I regret it having happened."

Sherry's expression fell a bit. "So, the only reason you wanted Claire on Rockfort Island was so you could mess with her? Seems a little pointless to me."

"No, I had other plans," he admitted, "but there's no point in disclosing them, not when I could use them again." He gave a smirk, the kind that wasn't friendly and instead, full of calm malice.

"I can't believe Steve attacked me," Sherry then grumbled. "What an asshole."

"Steven needs to learn how to control himself as a Tyrant," the man deadpanned. "Unfortunately, for him, even when he was a human he had a lack of self-control. It's a shame."

"So… Getting back to Sergei…" Sherry then said, changing the subject back to her original inquiry.

The man paused for a moment, recalling Sherry's original question. "Yes," he said, "Sergei began working for Umbrella after the fall of the Soviet Union. Many of his concepts for projects come from his history there."

Sherry looked down at the file on her lap, trying to gather her thoughts again. "Still…" she debated, looking down at the file. "A MRL? _Really_?"

"Steven and I found the creature on Rockfort Island, and we fought her," Wesker told the girl. "It was quite strong, admittedly much stronger than any past creations of Umbrella, but the main problem I see is that if Steve and I chose, we could've just destroyed the computer, which would've promptly destroyed the Tyrant as well."

"Hmm," Sherry mused, picking up the mug Wesker gave her and stirring some of the tea around. "I guess they could do a better job _hiding _the stupid computer. But, I still don't get why Umbrella gave up on designing Tyrants as humans, like you… and Steve."

"Well, Sergei accomplished somewhat accomplished that with his Ivan models. I think there are some files on those somewhere." The man leaned forward, skimming through the files left on the table. When he found what he was looking for, he handed it over to Sherry. "Remember the Tyrant that attacked Ada Wong in Raccoon City? Mr. X, as it was codenamed?"

"Oh, yeah," Sherry said, looking at the picture attached to the file. The Ivan model sort of looked like Mr. X, but much more sophisticated. "Wait a minute. It says here that Ivan is a T-103 model, too. So, does that mean Sergei redesigned those models into these Ivan things?"

Wesker nodded. "Precisely," he said. "They could pass as human, but just barely. They couldn't exactly walk in a crowd on the street, for they would be too obvious, but alone, with just Sergei, they certainly appeared human. I fought one of those models on the night of the Spencer Mansion outbreak."

"Really? What was that like?"

"It was also quite strong, and I never managed to kill it, but it was a fast and a worthy opponent. The Ivan models still do not have the ability to talk, however, but they listened to Sergei and _only _Sergei, which was quite an achievement."

"So, tell me again how The Agency managed to achieve what Umbrella hasn't with humanoid Tyrants?"

"Your father is the one who gave me the virus I injected myself with," he reminded her. "It was a primitive form of the G-Virus, a strain that wouldn't cause mutation. It only worked so well on me because of my genetic makeup, but otherwise, any other individual who used it would have risked death."

"And, what about Steve?"

"Steven's genetic makeup also happened to be a good fit for the virus, specifically the T-Veronica. The virus didn't infect him _per se_, but rather, it complemented his cells and worked well with his body. We used the G-Virus strain to rejuvenate cellular function, which combined with the T-Veronica already running through his system and enabled him to come back from the dead."

"I think I get it now," Sherry said, nodding. "But… I also know that because my father infected me with his embryo in Raccoon City, I used to be a… uh…"

"A dormant host for the virus," Wesker clarified. "Don't worry, Sherry. When The Agency brought you here, we managed to disinfect those cells. There's nothing to worry about."

"I know, but… What if you hadn't? Would I have eventually mutated if I ever came in contact with the virus again?"

Wesker shrugged. "It's a possibility. William's genetic makeup obviously did not complement the G-Virus, which was why he mutated so badly. I would assume since you're his daughter that you would have had a similar reaction to the virus."

"Oh, gee," she griped, rubbing the back of her head. "So, whatever happened to the vaccine that Claire used on me anyway?"

"We have the Vaccine Synthesis," Wesker told her. "I'm sure Umbrella still has it, too. If anything were to happen to you or anyone else, we'd have the G-Vaccine."

"Well, that's good, I guess," she said, taking a sip of her tea.

xxxxx

Steve had been watching Claire sleep for a little over four hours. The doctors had moved the Redfield from her initial room, relocating her to a small, more secluded area of the hospital, to which Steve was grateful. It gave them more privacy, and there wasn't an obnoxious window on the wall, allowing anyone who wished to sneak a peek at the two of them. Not that anything interesting was going on anyway. Claire was still fast asleep, and while Steve couldn't blame her for being so extremely tired, he was still anxious for her to wake up. Part of him was just far too excited to tell her what he had managed to get Wesker to admit regarding Sherry and her father, and although Steve recognize that, yeah, it _was _a little pathetic, he still couldn't help feeling malicious enough to share with Claire. After all, Claire and him had far too many conversations regarding Wesker's motives when it came to Sherry. He was still beyond satisfied for having figured it out.

When Claire stirred in her sleep, Steve jumped a bit, watching in his seat as she turned over. She must have sensed his presence, because she opened her eyes, looking at him tiredly and managing a smile.

"Hey…" she said after a yawn. "God, what time is it?" she asked, sitting up carefully.

Steve glanced at the clock on the wall. "Just past midnight," he told her. "You slept almost all day. I was getting worried. I thought something was really wrong with you."

Claire managed to sit up completely, and she rubbed her eyes, blinking out the light coming from underneath the closed door. "Why did Wesker let me sleep so long? Am I staying in the hospital for the rest of the night?"

At the mention of Wesker's name, Steve stiffened a bit. "Yeah," he answered. "He wanted me to stay, too."

"Why?" Claire asked, adjusting the blanket. Apparently the doctors changed her into a hospital gown, and the flimsy blue and white thing instantly reminded her of when she was first taken to The Agency's facility. That seemed like such a long time ago…

"I kind of lost my temper earlier," he explained, "and I took it out on Sherry."

Claire gaped at him, thrown off by this. "Did you hurt her?" she wondered, furrowing her brow.

"Not… not too much…" he replied. "But, Wesker said he didn't want me near Sherry for the rest of the night." He broke into a smile for a moment, adding, "_Pfft_, as though that's a punishment! What an asshole!"

"Steve…" Claire whispered. "She's okay, right?"

"What? Yeah, _yeah_, she's fine. I just… I dunno, Claire. Sometimes the things she say really baffle me. I told her about you and Rebecca and how Wesker tricked you, and she didn't even seem to care. Now I know how you feel, when you look at her, and you start to see _Wesker_. She's becoming so much like him."

The Redfield pursed her lips. "I know," she said, nodding. "I'm sure her father would be proud."

"That's another thing," Steve began, and he couldn't help the brightening tone in his voice. "When Wesker and I were arguing about Sherry, I told him that he had no right to be protective of her, because she's not even his daughter."

"Well, Wesker knew Sherry's father," Claire supplied.

"Exactly," Steve admitted. "And, when I pointed that out, he was so furious! You should've seen him! And, when I accused of him of having a boner for his dead friend, he totally _freaked_, Claire. I think I hit the mark there."

Claire gave a thoughtful look. "What are you saying? Sherry's father and him had a thing going on?"

"Yeah, basically," he admitted with a shrug. "Isn't that weak, man? I mean, I always thought Wesker was a fag, and given all those weird things he's done, it always kind of added to the thought, but _now_, now that I know… Shit. I think it's hilarious. I wonder if Sherry knows."

Claire faltered for a moment. "She doesn't think highly of either of her parents… She probably never thought much of their marriage either…"

"William Birkin and Albert Wesker. Oh, what a hilarious love affair that must've been!"

Claire managed to smile. "I'm sure," she said. "I just… I have a hard time imagining Wesker with anyone. I wonder if they _loved_ each other. That doesn't seem possible…"

Steve snorted. "Well, I'm sure Birkin was just as fucked up as Wesker, so they probably made a good pair."

"How's your wound, Steve?" Claire then asked, changing the subject completely.

"Huh? …Oh, it's fine, I guess," he said, rolling up his sleeve and taking a look at it. "I didn't need stitches, so it's good."

Claire reached out, stroking the white bandage. "I can't believe he made you fight that thing…"

"It wasn't that difficult," Steve replied. "I mean, even though it had a goddamn MRL. But, once it used up those missiles, we just shot at some gasoline tanks, and that pretty much killed her."

"I almost wish I could've been there with you," she admitted. "I mean, I know that sounds really weird, but… When they sent me back to the plane, I was just miserable. I didn't know what to do with myself." She continued to stroke the boy's wound, seeing some blood hit the surface of the material.

Steve exhaled. He enjoyed Claire's ministrations. They felt warm and comforting. It was only then that he realized he was actually quite cold. Claire noticed the sudden change in his body, goose bumps appearing on his arm, and she gently pushed down the bed rails, readjusting her blankets and scooting over.

"Join me?" she asked, smiling as she kept the sheets lifted for him to crawl under.

Steve smiled back, leaving his chair and climbing into the small hospital bed with Claire. It was cramped, and the mattress wasn't even that comfortable, but he enjoyed being so close to Claire. They had shared a bed before… but this was different. It seemed more personal, more intimate. And, when Claire set the blankets down, tucking Steve under with her, the boy felt his body temperature rise immediately, and he welcomed even more of the proximity when the girl leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She looked so frail in the hospital gown, her hair down and her body appearing much more thin and fragile. She almost looked… vulnerable.

'_She's vulnerable, and you know she'll give you it.'_

Steve narrowed his eyes, wondering whether or not Wesker's words were true. Back at Rockfort, she had practically begged, and while Steve was sincerely glad he talked her out of it, if he _hadn't_ he could've gotten what he'd been wanting for so long. Instead, he said no, and he was _proud _that he managed to make that conscious decision. But, now, so close and warm next to him, Steve wasn't sure whether he could say no twice, and it was obvious from her quicken ministrations against his arm that she was pressing for something, trying to avoid the verbal invitation but emitting such an obvious hint.

"Claire…" Steve voiced, turning to face her. She gave him a particular look, one that read she didn't want _him_ to say anything. But, he couldn't. This was too important. "Claire, we don't have anything," he told her, and it was instantly a repeat of Rockfort Island.

"I know that, Steve," she replied harshly. "But, I want this, Steve. I've been wanting it for so long, and just… I want you, Steve. _You_." She placed her hands onto his shoulders and leaned in, pushing their lips together in a heated, fast kiss.

Steve responded immediately, reaching out and steadying her when she deepened the kiss almost too enthusiastically. When he broke apart, he caught his breath, saying, "I don't want to take advantage of you, Claire."

"You're not," she quickly said, hope in her eyes when she realized he was giving in. "You're not, I promise you. I know what I'm saying, Steve, and I want this. So badly. _Please_."

It was happening fast and unexpectedly, but Steve couldn't say no any longer. He began kissing her again, pushing into her mouth hard and fast. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing into the boy. She felt so pathetic in her hospital gown in comparison to Steve's militia attire, but when the boy's hands began unfastening the back of the flimsy thing, she was almost grateful to be wearing it. The straps fell, revealing her shoulders and collarbone, and Steve leaned in, pressing his mouth against her warm skin.

Claire knew what he was thinking: she knew he was thinking about her humanity, her _blood_, her _flesh_. Somehow, though, it didn't matter. Because he was being passionate and quick, and she knew he wanted this just as much as she did. She kissed him harder, pulling up his shirt all the meanwhile and discarding the black material somewhere in the room. She was careful around his wound, briefly stroking it beneath the gauze, knowing he would appreciate the touch.

Now, she was kissing him again, pulling herself close to him and keeping herself locked beneath his body. She could already feel his arousal beneath his pants, and she moaned, opening her mouth enough to let his tongue slip in and tangle with her own. Everything about Steve was so warm, and she loved it. He was inexperienced and quiet—a reservation even she had her first time, the fear to make noise as though you were going to be caught—but he was eager, and it made his movements rough and fast. She was amazed at the way his hands slid under her hospital gown, massaging her breasts and pulling her closer by the waist. Claire helped pull the entire garment off, and she blushed furiously, realizing she was now completely nude. She reached out, helping Steve unfasten his belt and pull off his pants, sliding them down his hips and thighs. He managed to kick them off the rest of the way, removing his remaining undergarment as well.

Claire stared for a moment, not able to grasp the concept of them—the two of them, Claire and Steve—together in a fucking _hospital room_: nude and groping and kissing and grating against one another. Steve was hard, and she was wet, and the remaining worries she had about doing this without any protection left her mind. He would pull out before he came, and while there was still a risk, she couldn't get herself to care. She wanted this. She had wanted it for so long, and she spent so much time denying it, because she was scared, scared of both his infection and the fact she was so completely human in comparison to him. She was stroking him now, feeling his length between her hands and allowing him to moan softly, repeating her name like a hymn. Claire blushed, knowing it must have felt a million times better than his own hands, and while she was nervous and partially unsure, she felt his entire body stiffen, already so close to the edge, but holding back.

Claire squirmed beneath him, positioning her legs on either side of his body and resting her back against the pillows. He moved between her legs, leaning down and kissing her fully on the mouth before moving onward to her neck, her shoulder, her left nipple. Claire let out a stifled groan, keeping her arm extended and continuing to stroke the boy. Her fingers grazed the tip of his length, and he exhaled deeply, opening his eyes and staring into hers for a moment.

"Claire… I…" he murmured, pushing her legs apart and holding them in the crooks of his arms. "God, you're so beautiful," he decided to say, leaning in and kissing her again.

Claire moaned into the kiss, pushing him down in both the lip-lock and their continual grating. She guided the hardness between her palm closer to her body, squirming a bit more as she widen her legs. When she felt him thrust in, she gasped, releasing her hold on him and transferring her arm around his waist, pushing him inside her more. He was trying to be gentle, but Claire was getting impatient, and she plunged herself down, feeling Steve fully enter her.

"_Oh, God_… Steve…" she whispered, shutting her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder. "Oh, God, _move_, please."

Steve listened, beginning to thrust in and out of her body. His moves were uncertain, but Claire was pushing downward, helping to create a rhythm, and soon, Steve caught on, pushing in and out of the tightness that surrounded his length. Claire reached for one of Steve's loose hands, wrapping her fingers around his briefly before resting it on her breast. He squeezed it enthusiastically, concentrating on the warmthwithin her body. _God,_ she was so wet, and it took very little to just easily glide inside her, thrusting in and thrusting out. _In and out, in and out_.

Claire felt herself let go, her completion washing over her swiftly. She lolled her head back, releasing his name from her mouth. Steve felt the girl's orgasm around him—so wet, _so fucking wet and hot—_and he grew weak. And, while he so desperately wanted to let himself go within her, he knew better, and he removed himself quickly, letting out his release on her leg, the fluid hot and sticky against her already damp skin.

Steve collapsed next to Claire, grabbing a tissue from the box next to the bed and quickly cleaning up the mess on her leg. God, the risk they had just taken was tremendous. He was hardly even worried about the _other thing_ that could happen; he was far too concerned by the possible infection he just gave her. But, he refused to worry about that now, not when he was surrounded by the kind of afterglow that swept his body into a wonderful oblivion. It felt so good, so wonderful and whole. And, although he so desperately wanted to say more to her, particularly those three words that would have completed what just happened, he kept it in, because he knew she would be hesitant to respond, and he didn't need that, not when he was feeling so perfect.

It finally happened, and that was all that mattered.

**End of Chapter Fourteen**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen:**

**See the World's Black Holes and Revelations**

xxxxx

By the time Steve woke up, the lights in Claire's small hospital room had been turned on. He realized almost instantly that it meant someone had come to check on Claire in the morning, which should've embarrassed him, considering whoever came into the room had seen the two of them lying in bed together, but he decided not to dwell on it too much. As he already told himself through the night, there was no going back; they certainly couldn't undo this, and for that, he was glad. He wouldn't have wanted to take it back. It meant far too much to him, and he only hoped it meant just as much to her. _Claire._ Claire, who was lying next to him, her warm and naked body pressing up against him and her messy brown hair scattered against their shared pillow. Steve could see her shabby hospital gown hanging from the propped down bed rails, as well as his pants and shirt lying on the tiled floor. Part of him still couldn't believe it happened.

And, _goddamn_, it was amazing. Steve didn't understand it, he couldn't grasp how he could be so engrossed by Claire's humanity. It drove him wild, and even though he was attracted to Claire on a completely normal, _natural _level, there was just something beautiful about feeling her body beneath his, warm and writhing in pleasure as he was thrusting into her, almost _drowning _in her humanity. He loved it. He loved _her_. He only wished he had the courage to tell her that. But, he was far too fearful she wouldn't return the words.

Steve sighed heavily, stretching his cramped muscles and unintentionally stirring Claire beside him. She made a tired groan, turning on her side and pressing her mouth against Steve's wounded arm. Either the feeling of the gauze brought her out of her sleep, or she managed to escape her tiredness all on her own, but regardless, she opened her eyes, looking up at Steve with some hesitation, as though she were afraid what he might say.

"Morning," he managed, reaching out and touching her cheek. The warmth in her skin was resonating off of her, so alive and strong. "God, please don't say you regret this…"

Claire immediately smiled. "No," she said jovially, sitting up. Her right breast was exposed, but either she didn't notice or just didn't care as she pushed herself against Steve, kissing him firmly on the mouth. The boy was taken aback by the lip-lock, but he responded to it, eagerly and fervently. "God, Steve… This was such the right thing to do. I'm sorry I waited so long."

Steve smiled, brushing his hand through Claire's loose strains of hair. "It's fine," he said. "I think waiting so long made it ten times better."

"I guess Wesker and Sherry can't make fun of you for being a virgin anymore."

Steve glared at her, his cheeks turning. "_Hey_!" he yelled, beginning to fume.

Claire laughed, and it reminded Steve of when she tricked him into giving her the Gold Lugers on Rockfort Island. It was the same silly little laugh that revealed she was truly amused. She had never quite laughed like that since, and Steve was glad to hear it, even if it was at his own expense. When her laughter settled, she looked around the room, eyeing the fluorescent lights and furrowing her brow.

"Someone came in," she noted.

"Yeah," Steve replied, shifting a bit in the bed. "I kind of hope it wasn't Wesker."

Claire frowned. "_Tch_, this was probably a part of some malicious plan of his anyway. He probably _wanted _us not to use a condom so I could get infected," she griped, rubbing her arm, which was sore from having slept on it all night.

"Speaking of which…"

The Redfield narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, I know," she began, pursing her lips. "I don't feel any different, though. If anything happened, I think we would know by now."

Steve wondered if that were true. He knew if someone was exposed to the T-Virus that mutation occurred slowly, but he had both the G-Virus and T-Veronica in his system. He had no idea how long it would take for those to infect another person, especially when it might have been transmitted through semen. Claire noticed the worried expression on Steve's face, and she placed a hand on his knee, patting it gently.

"Don't worry, Steve," she coaxed. "Look at me. I'm _fine_."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, you're right," he said, pulling her into his embrace. "We should probably get dressed now."

"You mean _you _should get dressed now," Claire corrected, grabbing her hospital gown from the railing. "I only have this flimsy little thing."

Steve managed to pick up his own clothing from the floor while still remaining on the bed. They dressed themselves properly, climbing out the bed and stretching. It might have been nice to sleep so close to one another, but the hospital bed was cramped, and both Claire and Steve could feel a raw stiffness in their body, sore and aching.

"I'm going to check if anyone's heard from Wesker," Steve said as he finished straightening his clothing and approached the door. When he exited the door, shutting it after him to give Claire privacy, he immediately noticed a small pile of clothes sitting outside the room. He blinked, bending down and picking up a note that rested it on it. It was written on a hospital prescription pad, and it read:

_You guys are freakin' gross. But, whatever. Albert asked me to bring these to you, and __clearly__ it was a good idea. Come visit me in the labs when you wake up. Weirdos._

_- Sherry_

So it had been Sherry who came into the room. Steve actually laughed at this revelation. It would have been embarrassing had it been anyone else, but he got a kick out of the idea _Sherry_ had walked in on them, especially since it was probably the very last thing on her mind. He continued smirking as he gathered the clothes in his arms, walking back in the room and shutting the door again.

"Look what Sherry brought us," Steve said, lying down the clothes on the bed, along with the note.

Claire picked up the small prescription sheet, taking a look at what was written and instantly turning red. "Oh, my _God_! Poor Sherry!" she exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand in a gasp. "Shit, I knew we should've tried locking the door, or—"

"Poor Sherry?" Steve echoed, interrupting her. "Come on, that's _hilarious_."

Claire was still visible red, but she suppressed a smirk, saying, "As if she's not already traumatized enough!" But, despite her words, a small laugh escaped her lips. "Goddammit," she cursed in amusement, wiping away the smile on her face.

Steve laughed, too, but then focused his attention on the clothing. They weren't anything special—just normal clothes that came from their closets—but they quickly changed again: Claire into a pair jeans, red tank-top and black denim jacket, and Steve into a blue Henley shirt and jeans. Steve decided to leave his other clothes in the room, knowing he had plenty of other similar garments to wear if he ever needed them again.

After Claire washed her face in the small bathroom, the two left, walking down the hospital corridor and taking the elevator down to the labs. Steve briefly wondered what Sherry wanted from them, if anything at all. When they reached the basement levels of the facility, they were let in by one of the lab workers, who explained Sherry was waiting for them in Lab Room _C_. Normally, Steve expected Claire to be freaking out by now, horrified by having to see Sherry in the lab environment, but he guessed she was just in too good of a mood to start stressing out.

"There you guys are," Sherry said, spotting them in the hallway. She was standing in the doorway of one of the labs, wearing a lab coat that looked far too big on her. She looked odd, the same way Wesker did when he wore a lab coat. "I see you got my gift…" she then voiced, gesturing to their clothing.

Claire blushed. "We did," she stammered, averting her eyes.

Sherry rolled hers. "Again, you guys are frickin' _weird_. I mean, a hospital room? Really?"

Claire said nothing, but Steve scoffed, declaring, "Better than what you did last night, moping around just because I hurt your _wittle_ feelings."

"My _feelings_?" Sherry shouted. "You almost broke my neck, you asshole!"

"Okay, okay, calm down," Claire interjected, pushing herself between the two of them in case they decided to start fighting. "Why did you ask us to come down here, Sherry?" she wondered, looking at the girl.

"Oh, I just figured you would want to be somewhere more interesting than the hospital all day. Albert isn't picking me up until around 6 p.m., so we have, like,"—she looked at the clock on the wall—"four hours until he gets here."

"It's fucking two in the afternoon? Damn, I had no idea," Steve said, rubbing the back of his head. "I guess we were up late…"

Sherry rolled her eyes again. "_Please_, let's not talk about _that_." She paused for a moment, a thought coming to mind. "Um, wait, you guys… used something, right? _You know_…"

Steve and Claire exchanged a look, but said nothing.

"Wait a minute…" Sherry started, furrowing her brow.

"It's not a big deal, Sherry," Claire quickly interrupted.

"_What_?" the girl gaped. "Are you kidding me, Claire? What the hell is wrong with you two! Claire! You're probably infected!"

"No!" she protested. "No, Sherry, we made sure that didn't happen."

Sherry balked, continuing to gape at them. "Are you 12, Claire? It doesn't work that way! Jesus, didn't you even think about the _other _thing that could happen?" She shook her head, still horrified. "You probably have an infected baby growing inside you now!"

"Sherry, come on!" the Redfield stressed. "We were careful, okay?"

"Claire, I want you to get tested," Sherry stated.

"Don't make it sound like a fucking STD!" Steve interjected, glaring at the girl in defense.

"This is serious! _Steve_, you're infected with both the G-Virus and the T-Veronica. If she's infected, I don't even know what could happen to Claire."

"I'm fine, Sherry," Claire insisted.

"Claire, I'm worried about you," the girl pressed. "Please don't be difficult."

The Redfield narrowed her eyes. "Do you… do you really think something could've happened?"

"Semen carries the viruses, Claire," she reminded her. "Come on, _I'll _do the test, if you want me to. They already taught me how to examine infected blood."

"Now you have me all scared, Sherry," Claire admitted, hesitation in her voice.

"You should be scared!" the girl affirmed, walking into the lab and preparing some equipment. She took out a syringe and needle, as well as a vacuum blood tube. "I feel like I'm your mother, scolding you about this…"

Steve put a hand on Claire's shoulder. "Don't listen to her," he said. "You said you felt fine yourself. She's just overacting."

Claire nodded slowly, walking over to one of the stools and taking a seat. While Sherry was preparing the needle, having put on latex gloves, Steve decided to stay standing, bemused by the whole event. It was almost ironic, because Claire and him kept flip-flopping positions on who was the one fretting over his infection. First it was Claire, then it was Steve and now it was Claire again. But, Steve _just knew_ nothing was wrong. He remembered feeling the pre-come leak from his body the previous night, but he sincerely doubted it was enough to actually _infect_ a person. He knew shit like that happened with pregnancy, but very rarely, and he wasn't going to worry over exaggerations that were meant to just scare people into using protection.

Nonetheless, Steve watched as Sherry gently slapped Claire's arm, preparing the Redfield for the needle. When she actually injected the thin metal thing into her arm, Claire winced, and Steve wondered how comfortable Sherry actually was doing this. She had only been trained for a couple of days, and he knew she was far from an expert, even when it came to small things like this. Still, she managed to collect a fair amount of blood, and when she was done, she smeared the fluid onto a square slide, bringing it over to a microscope.

Claire rubbed her prodded arm, and asked, "Do you see anything?"

Sherry was adjusting the lens, concentrating on the blood the best she could. "No," she answered, but there was hesitation. "It looks fine, but…"

"But, _what_?" Claire demanded, leaping up from her seat.

"I don't know… I just… I think that if something _did _happen that maybe it would take a while to show up in your system." Sherry stared at the microscope despondently, not looking through the lens but just staring at the device, as though she wished it could do more. "I probably need to ask someone else if they can help me."

Claire stiffened at this, immediately shouting, "No! _No_, Sherry, I don't want anyone else to know. Can't you do anything else?"

Behind the two girls, Steve rolled his eyes. He was currently resisting the urge to simply strangle Sherry, because she had done a stellar job freaking out Claire over absolutely nothing. Steve openly admitted to knowing very little at times about how the viruses worked in his body, but he could feel humanity and he could especially feel Wesker's mutual infection, so he was positive that if Claire had any strain of the virus in her he'd be able to notice. But, _no_—she felt the same with that beautiful, foreign humanity, and so he just knew there couldn't be anything wrong with her.

"They only taught me how to see the virus in blood samples," the girl admitted. She suddenly wished she knew more, that the other researchers were teaching her things at a faster pace. She hated feeling like she couldn't do anything for Claire. "I could… Well, I could ask Albert to help."

Claire recoiled. "_Wesker_? No. Absolutely not. It's not even his business that Steve and I—" Claire stopped mid-sentence when she saw Sherry's eyes avert from hers, traveling to the electronic doorway that had suddenly slid up, the cool, soothing sound indicating someone had just entered. The Redfield immediately whirled around, only to see Wesker standing in the doorway with his lab coat on and his sunglasses off. Color swept her face, but the man only rose an eyebrow, curious as to what they were talking about.

"Was I interrupting something?" he asked, eyeing the three of them.

"Sort of," Sherry admitted, taking a step forward and moving beside Claire. "I kind of need your help."

"Sherry, no!" the Redfield snapped, her expression still revealing her extreme embarrassment.

Steve was leaning over a counter now, messing with a pen that had been left there. "Come on, Claire," the boy urged. "He's going to find out anyway."

Wesker wasn't amused by them tip-toeing around whatever they were hiding, but he was clever enough to immediately figure out what was going on, knowing the three of them far too well at this point to assume anything otherwise. He looked at Claire and Steve pointedly, and said, "You two slept together. Wonderful. Congratulations, Steven."

"Oh, fuck you!" Steve barked, rolling his eyes again. "_Ugh_… fag…" he then added lowly.

Sherry crossed her arms over her baggy lab coat and sighed. "Yeah, but that's not all," she clarified. "They're just like every other retarded teenager and didn't _use anything_."

To this, Wesker tilted his head, immediate curiosity forming on his expression as he briefly wondered whether Sherry meant what he thought she did. When silence swept over them, the man smirked, and he scoffed loudly before beginning to laugh. It was his calculating, cruel laugh that revealed all the malice he possessed. But, there also true amusement, as though this was the greatest joke he ever heard.

"You two are absolute fools," he told them frankly. "Steven, I expected this out of you, but Claire…? I'm surprised."

The Redfield's eyes flared in anger, and she opened her mouth to speak, ready to go off on the man, but he got the first word in, continuing on and saying:

"So, let me see here… You both realized your mistake per Sherry's superior intellect, and are now trying to get answers?" He looked at the syringe and vacuum tube on the counter. "Ah, and I see Sherry has agreed to help. Any news?" He looked at Sherry with a cocked eyebrow.

The girl just shrugged. "I really can't tell a single thing from the blood sample I took," she told him, seeming even more frustrated now that she had to confess to Wesker she had very little knowledge of what she was doing. "Sorry…" she then added.

Wesker walked over to the microscope near Sherry, peering into the device and adjusting the blur. He took a good hard look at the sample—even positioning the slide in different directions—before turning back around and giving Claire a frank look.

"Your blood is fine," he admitted. "However, as Sherry has probably already told you, it may take several hours for any kind of reaction, especially since we're dealing with viruses that take longer to infect than the regular T-Virus."

The color in Claire's face drained. "You two are just saying this to scare me…" she murmured, her voice distant. "I'm not fucking infected with anything!"

"Well, we'll see in a few hours," Wesker decided, taking the tube of blood Sherry had left and securing it with a tight cap. "I'm going to bring this over to another lab. They'll be able to tell whether anything is pupating."

"Wait—!" Sherry shouted, stopping the man before he could exit the lab. "I thought you weren't going to be here until 6 o'clock… Why are you in the labs now?"

"I was called in to sign several documents," the man said, beginning to exit the lab again. "I'll be back later to take you all _home_," he then added as he walked through the door, leaving into the corridor. He seethed the last word, a direct hit at Claire, who flinched when hearing it.

"That fucker…" she hissed, tightening her fists. "I can't believe this… Why have I lost my judgment when it comes to everything?"

Steve stiffened at that. "Claire…" he called out. "You and I both know that wasn't a mistake…"

Claire looked at him sympathetically. "That's not how I feel," she quickly stated. "But, we should've waited until we had something… _Oh, God_… If I'm infected, Steve, I don't know what I will do!"

Sherry seemed to slip away from the lab, wanting to give them a private moment together, although Claire could only assume the girl went to find Wesker. Still, that didn't matter… Not when she feared something was horribly wrong with her, something that could _kill_ her. She knew she wouldn't be as lucky as Steve and Wesker; her genetic makeup was not suitable for infection. If the virus infected her, it would _take over _her body, not complement it. She would mutate and either become some horrible Tyrant hell-bent on destruction… or, she would end up as a some kind of zombie hybrid, destined to decay and rot and _die_.

"You're getting ahead of yourself," Steve voiced, as though he could read all of her thoughts. He walked up to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and causing her to look up at him. "_Nothing_ is wrong."

Claire welcomed the boy's embrace when he leaned forward, strong arms wrapping around her body and bringing her close to his chest. She hated this. They were supposed to have moved forward in their relationship, they were supposed to be _happy_ now. Neither of them had woken up regretting what they had done together, and giving any other circumstance at the moment, the two probably would've been repeating last night's escapades, like a normal couple. But, there was nothing normal about them—_nothing_—and that's what scared Claire the most. Things had just started changing between them, and she was so sure that meant everything would get better. But, already, things seemed to be getting worse. Even if she wasn't infected there was still so much to worry about regarding Steve. Now that she had allowed herself to get _this close _to him she knew there was no way she could ever leave the boy and escape alone. They would have to escape together. They had tried that before in Antarctica, and things hadn't worked out at all. What if this was just another blow at their relationship? What if Claire had to eventually make the ultimate choice regarding sides?

_Now you are getting too ahead of yourself_, she thought distantly. _Just shut up… You don't know anything yet, and it's going to be at least a day before you do…_

Claire sighed and pulled out of Steve's embrace, looking up at him sadly. "I guess it's just about waiting now," she vocalized.

Steve desperately wanted to ask her what she _would _do if she ended up being infected, but it was not the right time, not when her fragility was so apparent. It still pained him to see her so easily broken these days, a complete contrast to the girl he met on Rockfort Island. But, that strong-willed part of her was still there—he could see it every time she argued with Wesker—and he knew that it was the situation they were in that made her so weak sometimes. It wasn't who she was becoming; it was just what she was experiencing. And, given time, the old version of Claire would return, whether it was through adjustment, or something else.

xxxxx

It was fairly late at night, around 8 p.m., and Claire had promptly gone into the bathroom to take a nice, hot shower, rinsing herself of both the germs from Rockfort Island and the hospital. Wesker had disappeared into his study, claiming he still had important work to do, which left Sherry and Steve to themselves with not much to do around the house. There was hardly anything interesting on television, and all of them had already eaten at The Agency's facility, so there was no need to cook a meal. The concern for Claire's possible infection had settled a bit—though it was still in the back of everyone's mind—but Steve knew there was nothing they could do at the moment. They would just have to wait until the morning when Claire could get tested again. Until then, Steve thought it best to just ignore.

Bemused by the lack of action going on in the house, Sherry had been content to just go to her room to start reading a new book she bought—Dennis Johnson's collection of short stories, _Jesus' Son_—but Steve was insistent on talking to her, being extremely bored himself. The girl finally gave up on reading ten minutes ago and agreed to play Scrabble with Steve, which wouldn't have normally called for alarm, except he made it clear the only version he would ever willingly play was _dirty word_ Scrabble, his personal favorite.

"I see you've raised me a '_cock_,' and I'll raise you an '_asshole_,'" Sherry said in the midst of her concentration, placing down her squares onto the Scrabble board. "Ah, see, it fits between my '_shit_' and your '_fag_.'"

"Goddammit, I don't have any good letters left," Steve complained, scratching the back of his head. "I can only spell '_egg_,' and that's decidedly not dirty. How the hell did I end up with all three _G_s anyway? Did you cheat me?"

Sherry scrunched up her face, shrinking back. "No!" she shouted. "Who the hell cheats at Scrabble?"

Steve muttered a curse. "Okay, whatever, I'll use '_egg_,'" he said, defeated. "Shit, we put our words too closer together. This is going to end stupidly."

"Well, I can spell '_gibe_,' right here," Sherry mused, placing her letters after the last '_G_' on '_egg_.' "This sucks… I thought the point of dirty word Scrabble was to make it more fun."

"Well, you just suck at playing," he griped, biting the inside of his cheek as he glared at the board. He decided to use his '_A_' and '_Y_' on the board and smiled proudly. "There. '_Gay_.' And, conveniently right above '_fag_.' The irony is delicious!"

Sherry sighed, not amused by such mundane words. She flipped the board over—much to Steve's dismay as he shouted a profusely high "Hey, asshole!"—and started over, dividing some letters between them randomly.

"Okay, let's just combine two words to make something long," she suggested, picking at her letters curiously. "I've got '_butt_,' does that go with anything of yours?"

"Sweet!" the boy exclaimed. "I've got '_pirate_!'"

"Buttpirate? That's not a word, Steve!"

"_Yes_, it is!" he stressed, laying down his letters on the board and smiling widely when Sherry just sighed and set down hers, too, forming the odd word in the center of the board. He began planning his next move, staring back and forth between his own letters and the ones on the board.

Sherry was busy counting out more squares for Steve, based on the points they earned. Once she was done, she laughed beneath her breath, happy to discover she could form the word "cunt" with her two new letters. She placed the three squares—two new, one old—on the board, immediately sending Steve into a fit of laughter.

"Oh, _shit_, we got lucky this time!" he exclaimed, placing his two decided letters above the last '_E_' on their original word. "Look, '_sex_!'" he burst, falling backwards on the plush carpet and laughing.

Sherry began chuckling, too, loud enough that Claire came waltzing into the room, her hands on her hips sternly. "What the hell, you guys?" she grunted, rubbing her wet hair. She was wrapped in a large white towel, and her pale arms and legs were moist from precipitation. "I could hear you with the _water running_."

"We're playing Scrabble," Sherry explained.

Steve was more interested in Claire's lack of clothes, and he didn't attempt to hide it as he looked the woman up and down, a smirk gracing his lips. "Do you want to play?" he asked hopefully.

"I need to change," Claire told him, taking a couple of steps back so Steve wouldn't look up her towel. She appreciated the once-over, but she remained the most irritable out of the three.

Steve frowned, saying, "Come on, just try one word."

Claire took a look at the board and furrowed her brow. "Oh, _that_ kind of Scrabble," she deadpanned.

"Well, it's far more interesting than the regular version," Sherry reasoned. "Come on, play with us. It's not going to kill you. Besides, I think it helps take your mind off things."

"I'll only do one turn," she said. "Then, I'm getting dressed." The Redfield bent down, looking at the spare letters sitting in a small pile and randomly picking out her appropriate seven. As she scouted what she obtained, she scoffed a bit, having a '_D_,' '_C_' and '_K_' in her batch.

"There, here's a '_dick_,'" she mused, placing them between the '_I_' on the board.

"Oh, my God!" Steve exclaimed, amusement full in his voice.

"I'm getting dressed now," the girl said, brushing through her wet brown hair again.

"Dude, you can't just join us and _leave_," Steve argued, watching the Redfield walk out of Sherry's room.

"Whatever, because I got '_hole_,'" Sherry suddenly said, placing her letters beneath Claire's newly added word. "See, '_dickhole_.'"

Steve's attention was back to the board, and he chuckled. "Good addition," he complimented. "Shit, we scrunched too many words together again," he then noted. "God, we suck at this."

Sherry looked at the board, too. "I guess this isn't how Scrabble was meant to be played."

"Do you think Claire's okay?" Steve suddenly asked, changing the subject all together.

The blonde rose an eyebrow, saying, "She seems pretty despondent emotionally. Physically, though? I don't know, Steve. I don't want her infected anymore than you do, but…"

"_But, _what?" Steve pressed, leaning forward a bit.

"_But_," she continued, "Albert and I were talking last night, about when Claire and I were in Raccoon City, and my father infected me with his embryo. Claire found the vaccine for me, but I became a dormant host for the G-Virus. The Agency here was able to fix that, but Claire might not be so lucky."

"So, what does that mean?" Steve demanded, now worried.

"Well, nothing, unless she came in contact with the viruses again," she explained. "And… that includes you. I mean, you're not radiating with the G-Virus or anything, but it's in your system, and there's so little research on humanoid Tyrants like yourself, so it's impossible to know what could happen."

Steve narrowed his eyes. He knew that if Claire were infected everything would be so much simpler _him_; he would never have to worry about losing his control around her, nor would he have to worry about making her sick. But, it wouldn't be easier for _Claire_. She wasn't like Steve, who had absolutely nothing out in the world. Claire had Chris, and she had her other friends, who cared for her and were _looking for_ her. If she were infected, all of that would disappear, and she wouldn't accept it. Steve didn't know her brother, but even though Claire spoke wonders of him, the boy wasn't sure if Chris could accept Claire's infection. Not everyone was as understanding as Claire—and even then, Steve knew that Claire had many, _many _reservations regarding Steve.

The boy suddenly felt bad about acting so casual around Claire just a moment ago. He knew Claire was trying to do the same, but it was so obvious that she had far too much on her mind. Throughout the day at the facility, she hadn't wanted to talk about it, just caring on with idle conversation and busying herself by watching Sherry work around the lab. The girl had mostly read paperwork, but there were occasions where another researcher would come into the lab, explain something far too complicated for Steve to even remember what they were talking about. The blonde girl just seemed so comfortable in a lab setting…

It actually didn't bother Steve too much that the girl might've been following in Wesker's footsteps. He supposed it _should have_, but beyond Sherry's attitude and teenage snark, Steve doubted there was any _true _malice in her. At least, for now there wasn't… After everything she had been through, who knew what could set her off into wanting to become _just like_ Wesker? Steve didn't want to think about _that_,though. He knew it would be the final straw for Claire.

The boy sighed, pushing himself up from the ground. "I think I'm going to check on Claire," he told Sherry, watching as the girl gave a curious look.

"That's fine," Sherry said, cleaning up the Scrabble board. "I should probably ask Wesker a few questions about the paperwork they made me bring home."

Steve exited the room, walking down a few doors until he reached Claire's. It was shut, so he knocked, but instead of waiting, he helped himself right in, seeing the girl whirl around and cover her body with the large towel. But, when she realized it was Steve, her expression softened, and she murmured a greeting, watching as he closed the door behind him.

"I thought you were Wesker at first," she admitted gruffly, rewrapping the towel around her body. The Redfield knew Steve expected her to just continue dressing, but regardless of what they had done the previous night, it still felt weird having someone watching you change clothes. She decided to brush her hair, grabbing the plastic comb from the dresser and untangling the tresses that fell just over her shoulder.

"Sorry," Steve said, realizing her discomfort.

The boy turned to face the door, giving her some privacy. But, all this did was make Claire laugh, amused at his instant embarrassment. The whole relationship thing was new for him, and while he clearly wanted things to speed up, reaching the point where nothing was an issue between them, that was unrealistic. But, Steve had never been in a relationship before, and Claire knew he really had no idea what to do in certain situations. Well, not that _she _did. This was new for both of them, but she _was_ the more experienced of the two of them, after all.

"Do you think Sherry is really bothered by knowing what we did?" Claire asked him, finishing with her hair and digging into some of the dresser drawers for a change of nightwear. "Aren't kids her age supposed to be obsessed with sex?"

Steve laughed beneath his breath. "Well, _it's Sherry_," he reminded her. "I think she's light years ahead of that kind of stuff already. She probably takes after her father. _Heey_, maybe she's a lesbian?"

Claire made a face. "Don't say that. You're going to make me worry every time she's around me."

Steve seemed surprised by this remark. "Do you mean that?" he asked, still facing the door and giving her privacy.

"Well, it'd just be creepy, that's all," Claire simplified.

"Hmm, never took you for the homophobic type," Steve said, adjusting his weight to his left leg. He was getting pretty sick of standing.

"I'm not…" Claire defended, dropping her towel and starting to change into her new clothes. She knew Steve was aware she was naked now, and she had the feeling he was watching her from the corner of his eye. "It's just… Well, okay, _maybe_. But, come on… Sherry? No way."

"We should buy her a _Playboy_, and see what she thinks," Steve suggested.

"Steve!" Claire yelled, but she was laughing. "Okay, I'm done," she then said, referring to having changed clothes.

Steve turned around, taking a quick look at her sleepwear, and smiled, still amused by his own comment. Claire's mood was elevated now, and Steve was grateful. He wanted it to remain that way for the rest of the night.

"I'm sorry things aren't more normal for us," Steve choked out, looking at her a little sadly.

"Don't be," Claire dismissed softly. "If anything happens I'm only going to blame myself. Not you… and… not even Wesker. He didn't push me to do anything. I've done it all, and I think it's finally time I start realizing that.

Steve balked. "Even with Rebecca…?"

"Yes," the girl said, taking a seat on her bed. "Even that. I know he was trying to play games with me, but I'm the one who murdered her."

"Wesker drove you to it, though," Steve reasoned, walking over to the bed and taking a seat, too.

Claire sucked in her bottom lip, biting it tightly. "I feel like I've been avoiding so much responsibility, Steve," she blurted out, her voice cracking. "All starting with Sherry. _I _was the one who left her, and yet I put so much blame on Leon for not looking after her. Then, everything happened with you on Rockfort, and I blamed Alexia and Wesker… But, I broke my promise to you, telling you we'd get off the island together. And, then Rebecca… and now _this…_ I keep blaming others, but it's _me_, Steve. It's all me…"

"Claire!" Steve exclaimed. "Come on, you _can't_ blame yourself for those things. Especially not with me…" The boy pulled her into an embrace, feeling her body shake just as it had in the labs earlier in the day.

"I just need to do something right before this is all over," she whispered, but Steve didn't hear it. Her words were muffled into his chest, and Steve was concentrating on the warmth of her breath there.

Claire eventually pulled away, but she kept her arms around Steve, allowing a loose hold before Steve leaned in, kissing her fully on the lips. He half-expected her to pull away, but when she didn't, he deepened it, and he could smell the shampoo in her hair, the same kind that Sherry used. It smelt weird on the blonde girl, but it smelt just perfect on Claire. She made the shampoo have an exotic, exciting scent, as though it belonged solely on her, and—

—and there was a knock at the door, slow and timid and obviously Sherry.

Steve pulled away, a little frustrated. "What?" he said, loud enough so the girl could hear him.

Sherry opened the door, glaring at the boy for his tone. "Albert wants you downstairs," she announced. "He said he needed to discuss something…"

Normally, Claire would've jumped up, too, demanding to go downstairs as well and hear what Wesker had to say. But, she was tired, and she felt a little dizzy after such a hot shower. She simply stretched out her sore muscles, lying back on her bed and letting Steve go. The boy was hesitant at first, but Claire gave him a look, one that revealed she was apathetic. He briefly wondered why it meant so much to have her opinion before going downstairs. When he did leave the room, Claire sat up for a moment, holding her weight on her elbows as she looked at Sherry, who remained in the doorway.

"Hey, um, Sherry…" the Redfield began. "You like boys, don't you?"

Sherry scoffed loudly, not expecting that. "_What_?" she asked.

"Boys. You like them, don't you?"

"I don't know. I really don't care about that kind of stuff, Claire. _Why_?"

"I was just wondering…" she said, narrowing her eyes for a speak.

"You were _talking about _me is what you were doing," Sherry rephrased. "Whatever. I'm going to bed." The girl exhaled upwards, blowing her blonde bangs around as she walked back to her room, frustrated by how things between Claire and her were getting so weird.

Downstairs, Steve couldn't seem to locate Wesker in the living room. His bedroom door was closed, so the boy figured he was finishing up something before he wanted to talk about whatever it was. Instead of knocking at the door, Steve wandered over to the kitchen, wanting to get a glass of water. There were a few files scattered around the counter, most belonging to Sherry. Some of them had her signature on them, curly and thick, unlike Wesker's, which was thin and always penned in such neat cursive. Steve made a mental note to make fun of the girl about her girlish handwriting later.

"Funny how you only slept with Claire after I told you to submit to her humanity."

Steve whirled around, nearly dropping his glass of water. He hadn't even heard Wesker enter the kitchen. "_Jesus_," he breathed. When he realized what the man said, however, the boy frowned, uncertain what he was getting at this time. "What the hell does that mean?" he demanded.

"I think you know," the man simply stated, curling his lower lip.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Oh, you're just mad because I outted you for your little lovefest with Birkin," the boy spat. "Does Sherry know? Should I tell her that her father was a fag?"

"Tell her what you like," the man offered with a shrug.

Steve huffed, a little bothered that he couldn't even use this against the man. At first it caught a reaction from Wesker, but now it seemed useless, as though the man accepted Steve had figured it out and just didn't care anymore.

"So…" the man began. "What will you do if the virus had infected Claire? You and I both know she doesn't have the correct genetic makeup to become like us. She's inferior. She'll die."

"Then, I'll fucking kill you," the boy seethed, slamming down his glass of water.

Wesker just smirked. "You act as though it's my fault you were careless enough to fuck her without a condom."

"Well, you're the one who did this to _me _in the first place!" Steve yelled, balling his fists.

"Is that how you thank someone who saved your life?"

Steve's eyes narrowed into flaring slits. "You only did it to get back at Claire and Chris," the boy grunted. "_Saving _my life never crossed your mind."

"Still caught up on that?" Wesker simpered.

"Still caught up on _Birkin_?" the boy spat, because it was all he had at this point, and it didn't even affect the man standing in front of him.

"You need some new material, Steven," Wesker sighed. "But, now… We need to discuss something far more important."

"Yeah, what's that?" Steve wondered in annoyance.

"Well, I promised Claire that I would let her contact her brother, didn't I?" he voiced. "And, I intend to keep that promise. I've discovered he's right here in Toronto. Leon and Chris plan to infiltrate the Umbrella facility there."

"You're lying!" the boy decided to say. "That trick doesn't work twice!"

"You think so? Here, take a look at this…" Wesker moved some of the files from the counter, handing over the newspaper that rested beneath it all.

Confused, Steve tore the newspaper from the man's hands, wondering what the hell could possibly be written there that would regard to Claire's brother. But, as he shook the thing into its correct position, the boy gaped, reading the headline:

_Raccoon City Survivor Under Arrest, Terrorist Threats on Umbrella Inc._

"What the hell is this?" Steve yelled, looking more closely at the article. He recognized the woman in the small photo as Jill Valentine, one of Claire's friends. The boy stared up at Wesker, his mouth still dropped open, but his eyes averted to the paper, and he further read:

_Raccoon City survivor and ex-S.T.A.R.S. unit member, Jill Valentine, was arrested yesterday after making several threats against the pharmaceutical company, Umbrella Inc., a company that has several divisions in the Toronto area. According to an Umbrella spokesman, Valentine had been missing for several months after the destruction of Raccoon City, her hometown, and was wanted on charges regarding research theft and conspiracy. Valentine was arrested at a local coffee shop after police heard the woman making terrorist threats regarding Umbrella. After heavy questioning, the woman admitted to having plans to infiltrate Umbrella's Toronto facility in hopes of destroying experiments and valuable research. She is currently awaiting trial._

"Oh, my God!" Steve exclaimed. "This shit isn't true!" he argued. "Umbrella must have bribed someone! How did they even find her?"

"The article is correct, Steven," Wesker assured. "Chris, Leon and Jill were in a Toronto coffee shop discussing their plans, and they were overheard by an Umbrella employee, who happened to be in the café. When the police were called, the three attempted to escape, but Jill was caught."

Steve continued to gape. "But—! But, _shit_, why were they even out in public? I thought Claire said they were trying to keep a low profile since they knew Umbrella was after them!"

"Well, they've been looking for Claire for the last month," Wesker reminded him. "Seems it's two down, two to go, isn't it?"

Steve threw down the newspaper. "Shit!" he growled. "Claire is going to be so upset!"

"Her chance to reunite with Chris is coming soon," Wesker sneered, "and I intend to let everything flesh out the way it's supposed to. I'm going to have my men investigate Chris and Leon's whereabouts in the city. Once we find out when they plan on attacking the facility, we shall go, too. And, everything will work out the way it is supposed to."

"I thought you said you would only let Claire contact Chris, not _see_ him!"

"I've changed my mind," he said. "Claire's recent behavior is quite disappointing, and I see little use for her anymore."

"Well, I'm not going to let you plan anything!" the boy yelled, watching the man walk back off into the living room. "_Fuck_…" he then cursed, exhaling loudly.

Now what were they going to do? If Leon and Chris were planning to destroy the facility, then what about this Jill Valentine woman? Were they trying to save her in the meantime? And, what lead did they have that led them all to Toronto in the first place? Sure, it was where Claire had initially disappeared, but she had been gone for over a month. It must have been something new they discovered…

Uncertain what to do, the boy was forced to walk off his anxiety before returning to Claire upstairs.

**End of Chapter Fifteen**


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen:**

**Like a Wrecking Ball Through Your Eyes**

xxxxx

Claire was fuming again. She had fallen asleep the night before, which meant Steve only now had the opportunity to inform her about Jill Valentine and her untimely arrest in Toronto. She was fuming, and Steve just watched, taking particular notice to how she was hunching her back and balling her fists and clenching her teeth. He'd seen her pissed countless times before, but this was different, and Steve suspected this is what she looked like when she wanted to punch someone in the face but couldn't find an outlet for the blow. Wesker had already left for The Agency facility with Sherry in tow, leaving Claire to only feel more frustrated because she couldn't yell or scream at the man. Instead, she was taking her frustrations out on a pillow, a scene that looked pretty silly to Steve, but probably felt really good to Claire.

"_I hate him_!" Claire yelled, throwing the couch pillow across the room. It slammed into the window, knocking down an expensive looking vase on the sill. "When he gets back here, I swear I am going to kill him! I'm just going to _murder him_!"

Steve sighed. "Claire," he voiced, "I'm not trying to defend him or anything, but you have to realize that _this time_, Wesker had nothing to do with your friend getting arrested. That's Umbrella's doing."

"It doesn't change anything!" the Redfield continued. "He still wants to infiltrate Umbrella's facility at the same time Chris and Leon are! He's planning something, I know it!"

"Of course he is," Steve admitted, taking a step forward and grabbing Claire by the shoulders. She felt stiff and tense, and it was obvious she hadn't released all of her frustrations yet. "But, that's why we have to think ahead. I mean, this might actually work to our advantage."

Claire exhaled, trying to relax. "I know…" she said hesitantly. "He's not lying about going to the Toronto facility at the same time as Leon and Chris. I _know _he's not lying, because wherever Chris goes, Wesker wants to go, too. It's all a part of a sick mind game to him."

"Right," Steve said, nodding. "And, at least this time we know it's not at trick. I don't think he cares enough to have doctored that entire newspaper or something."

"I can't believe Jill was arrested…" Claire then said, pushing her hands into her face. "_God_, Chris is probably on the edge of becoming suicidal right now. First me, now Jill…"

"Is Jill, like, his girlfriend or something?" Steve wondered, knitting his brows together. There was so much about Claire's friends he didn't know, but one thing he noticed was that Claire often spoke about Chris and Jill as a pair; they weren't really _Chris _and _Jill_; they were _Chris&Jill_.

Claire blushed. Talking about her brother's romantic life was a bit uncomfortable. "Well, sort of," Claire admitted, "but it's a little complicated. I guess I don't really know."

"Oh."

"Never mind that, though," the girl dismissed, waving a hand. She seemed to have fully calmed down by now. "Did Wesker say anything about _us—_meaning you and me—going to the facility, too?"

Steve suddenly realized that within all his explaining of what happened last night, he had completely forgotten to tell Claire that Wesker mentioned Chris and her finally "reuniting," per his so-called promise to let them see each other.

"Yeah," he stammered, "he did… but…"

"But, _what_?" Claire asked, distress in her voice.

Steve sat down on the couch, giving a small sigh. "Remember how he said if you agreed to come to Rockfort he would let you make contact with Chris? Well, apparently, he thinks this is a good opportunity to do that… so, yeah, he's probably plotting how to use that to his advantage if he sends us to infiltrate the Toronto facility, too."

"_Dammit_!" Claire cursed loudly, slamming her body down the couch in a huff. "_Ugh_, God, I can never stay two steps ahead of him, no matter what I try to do!"

"But, think about it for a second," Steve offered, reaching out and placing a hand on her shoulder. His voice then lowered. "He's not going to monitor us 100 percent of the time there… If you want to leave with your brother, then this might be your one and only opportunity…"

Claire blinked, taken aback by that statement. "Steve…" she said, her expression instantly softening. "What do you mean…?"

Steve averted his eyes. "Do you really think I want to be here anymore, after what Wesker drove you to on Rockfort Island, after how I've seen how possessive he is of certain things, like _Sherry_?"

"But…" Claire trailed off, uncertain what to say. "What about your infection? What about all the things the virus makes you do and feel and—?"

"_I don't care_," Steve interrupted. "I don't. I just want to be out of here, I want to live a normal life, Claire. I don't give a fuck about Wesker anymore. I fucking hate him."

Claire turned away, trying to decrypt the boy's words. "Did something happen between you two that you're not telling me?"

"_What_?" the boy spat. "No!"

"You're lying…"

Steve faltered, and Claire saw some kind of nervous twitch in the boy's fingers, a sign he _was _lying. "We still have _your _possible infection to worry about, Claire," Steve said, changing the subject. "Sherry told me she'd call as soon as they found out…"

Claire still wanted to press into what happened between Steve and Wesker more, but the change of subject regarded something she was still worried about, and she found it hard to try and think of something that could steer the conversation back the other way.

"I'm fine," she assured him, and it must have been the millionth time she said it. "I mean, I was worried last night, but I woke up today _still _feeling fine. Besides, by now, wouldn't there be some kind of mutation?"

Steve hadn't really thought of that, even though, by now, he actually figured that she was right—there _wasn't_ anything wrong with her—but he was still worried, because there was so much they didn't know about both the G-Virus and T-Veronica. _And_, considering the way it might have been transmitted into Claire's body, Steve didn't know how much research went into that area either. But, that wasn't all that bothered him… He couldn't believe Claire read him so easily and was able to detect the fact Wesker was beginning to bother him more than usual. Steve wasn't even sure what triggered it, but ever since they had that fight at the hospital, the boy's blood would just start boiling at the mere sight of Wesker. Was it because of what happened on Rockfort with Steve's injury? Had that really bothered him so much he couldn't behave around the man anymore? That seemed so ridiculous, considering they had fucking _kissed _before—(_unintentionally, of course, _Steve added in his head)—but there _was _something about that incident on Rockfort that just seemed too personal, too intimate. Maybe even more intimate than sleeping with Claire…

Steve shook off the thoughts. He wasn't even going to begin thinking about _that_, not now, not ever. He was already uncomfortable with what the virus wanted out of him, and he was never going to give into it again. _Never_.

"We need to start planning, Claire," the boy said, his tone flat. "Wesker told me that as soon as he finds out when Leon and Chris are breaking into the headquarters, we will, too. There's no way of knowing ahead of time when it's going to happen."

"If Jill was just arrested two days ago, then knowing Chris, it's going to be soon. They've probably already investigated the facility, though, since that's where I was last at before disappearing…"

"What do you think would happen if we just up and left now?" Steve asked, completely serious.

"Wesker would find us," Claire replied. "We have to wait for the facility, so we can be with my brother," she then explained. "Chris knows how to conceal himself from the public… at least, he used to… Right now he's worried and stressed, and it's making him do stupid things."

"But, knowing you're alive… It's going to change things for him…"

Claire leaned against the back of the couch, sighing heavily. "What are we going to do, Steve?" she mused. "I know Wesker is going to try and kill Chris, and we _have to _outsmart him. We just have to."

"It's going to be tough," Steve admitted, "but the more I think about it, the more obvious it is that Wesker isn't going to the facility for any Agency reasons; he _is _going because of your brother. There's no information he wants to steal from Umbrella or anything…"

"It's another mind game," Claire noted, balling her fists again. "Wesker probably wants to dangle me in front of Chris, tell him about everything I've done here, including helping him on Rockfort, and killing… Rebecca… What if Chris _hates me_?"

"Come on, Claire, there's no way he could ever hate you. I don't even know the guy, but it's so obvious how close you two are—he's not going to put any of the blame on you."

Claire gave that distant, blank look again, the same one she showed after strangling Rebecca on Rockfort. "But, _I am _to blame," she whispered. "Remember what I said yesterday? About how I need to start taking responsibility for everything that's happened…? That means I have to admit it all to Chris, too. I don't know if I can…"

"He'll understand, Claire," Steve assured. "You said Wesker was Chris' captain on that S.T.A.R.S. team, didn't you? He knows Wesker. He's gotta know how he works, too."

The Redfield slumped down on the couch, eventually lying flat on her back with her head pressed against Steve's thigh. "I hate myself so much right now, Steve. I've never hated myself before. I've done so many horrible things since being here, I've become a completely different person. And, I hate it…"

Cautiously, Steve allowed his fingers to reach down, pressing against Claire's forehead and hairline and brushing through her bangs. She closed her eyes, pressing into the touch, but just exhaled, feeling relaxed by the ministration.

"I wish you didn't feel that way," Steve told her gently. "I mean, my feelings for you haven't changed, and if you had really become an awful person, I'm positive I wouldn't still feel the way I do…"

Either Claire hadn't caught his words or she hadn't understood what he was really trying to say, because she simply continued to stare at the ceiling, looking frail and distant. "Is that true?" she wondered. "If I were to become a horrible, horrible person, your feelings would change for me?"

"Well, yeah," Steve figured.

"But, then, what about Wesker?"

"Uh, what _about _Wesker?" Steve asked hesitantly.

Claire gave him a pointed look as she continued to lie on the couch. "He's a monster, but in the past you've seemed so willing to overlook that…"

"Not anymore I don't!" the boy exclaimed. "Not after what he did to you on Rockfort!"

"Steve," Claire began, sitting back up and turning to face him. She sat on her knees, holding herself up with the back of the couch. "What's going on with you two? Tell me."

"Nothing!" the boy yelled.

Claire looked insulted by his tone, and she got up from the couch, folding her arms and spewing, "If you're not going to tell me, Steve, then how the hell can I trust you when we go to the Toronto facility?"

Steve rolled his eyes at that, a little frustrated she was getting so pissy this quickly. "This has nothing to do with that," he pointed out. "It's just… This goddamn virus inside me makes me feel so connected to him sometimes, and I can't _help _that."

"Frankly, Steve, I'm starting to think it's something else."

"Something else!" the boy echoed, rising from the couch, too, and gawking at her. "Something else like _what_?" he demanded.

Claire avoided his gaze by turning a way, her voice softening as she said, "I don't know… It's just something I pick up on sometimes."

"Pick up on what?" he pressed further, almost whining. He was about to lose his temper and start name-calling, but just when he opened his mouth to speak, the phone rang. At first, Steve's expression fell into a glare, not wanting to answer it as he crossed his arms, wanting to finish the conversation with Claire. The Redfield, however, seemed grateful for the interruption, because she immediately turned to answer the phone.

"Hello?" she greeted, her tone clipped.

There was a pause on the other line before the person spoke. "It's Sherry," the girl said, clearing her throat.

"Is something wrong?" Claire panicked, causing Steve to tilt his head, curious to know who was calling.

"Anything but," the blonde girl continued. "Well, _for you_ anyway. Your test came back negative."

Claire blinked. "…It did?"

"Yep," she confirmed. "Oh, and in case you were worried about that _other thing_—you know, the thing most people worry about when not using a condom—no, you're not pregnant either. No retarded Tyrant baby for Steve and you. Sorry."

Claire felt her face heat up when Sherry said that. In reality, Claire hadn't given _that _part of the situation much thought, if any, and it bothered her to know the blood work they preformed would even check for such a thing. She turned to look at Steve for a moment, and judging from his raised eyebrow, Claire could tell he was trying to interpret the conversation.

"Well," Claire then voiced, "what does this all mean?"

"Uh, nothing? Or, well, that you're incredibly lucky, and you shouldn't be so stupid in the future? I don't know, take your pick, Claire. What, are you disappointed or something?"

"Of course I'm not!" Claire yelled. "I'm relieved and thankful! I'm just… surprised."

"Okay," Sherry said, sounding uninterested. "Listen, I need to go, but I just wanted to let you know."

Claire could hear some rustling of paper on the other end of the line. "Bye," she voiced, somewhat solemnly before she hung up the phone, placing it back on the receiver. She waited a moment to let the news sink in, then turned back around to look at Steve again.

"I take it that was Sherry," he conjured. "And, judging from your reaction—or lack thereof—I'm guessing you're not infected with my deadly AIDS." He sounded bitter, and it reminded Claire they had been fighting.

"No," she answered, "I'm not. Try not to sound disappointed."

"That's not what I meant!" the boy grunted. "Why do you always have to pick a fight with me?" he then demanded, sincerely angry.

Claire huffed and retorted, "I don't! You're just… so sensitive sometimes!" She pushed some of her bangs through her fingers, trying to calm down. She figured she wasn't going to get an answer to her earlier question, so she decided not to bother bringing it up again. It didn't stop bothering her, however, and part of the Redfield wondered if she should've considered asking Sherry about the issue first. After all, she had seen Steve and Wesker interact long before Claire herself ended up in their presence.

Steve was busy grumbling under his breath, and by now, he had made his way to the kitchen, throwing open cabinets and searching for something to eat. Because of what happened between them at the hospital, Claire almost expected there to be some kind of drastic change in their relationship, some kind of magical cessation to what she considered their problems. If anything, it almost seemed like what they had done created _more_ issues. Granted, they had produced the first problem themselves by being too caught up in the moment to care about protection, but aside from that, nothing had really solved the fact they couldn't stop arguing, even when they were on the same page about Wesker. It hadn't even been ten minutes ago when Steve declared he honestly did not want to be around the man, but all the boy did was dodge her inquires about their relationship, about things that may have happened when she wasn't around.

From the living room, she watched as Steve dug into the breadbox, messily tearing apart several chunks from a fresh loaf and stuffing them into his mouth. It was a rather unattractive sight, especially the way Steve was chewing, so Claire turned away, staring at the newspaper on the coffee table. Printed alongside the article about Jill was a mugshot of the woman. Her hair was unkempt, and she had bags under her eyes, and it made Claire sad to see her friend that way. She thought about Chris once again, knowing that he was going out of his mind. Claire vaguely wondered if her brother had any idea that Umbrella had nothing to do with her owndisappearance and whether or not he suspected Wesker at all. Again, she became despondent at the idea of confessing all her misdeeds to him when they reunited, and half of her wanted to make up some absurd story about being brainwashed just so she could justify her actions.

Eventually, she tore her eyes away from the paper and sat down on the couch. When she picked up the remote to the TV and turned it on, Steve made his way back to the living room, sitting on the sofa chair adjacent to the couch. He watched as Claire flicked through the channels, bypassing an assortment of infomercials, soap operas and children programs before settling on a news station. His gaze transferred to the older girl, whose eyes were glued to the TV screen, but he was careful not to make it obvious he was staring. She had a distant look on her face, which told him she wasn't paying attention to anything on the television. He knew she was thinking about her brother or maybe even Wesker. The latter made Steve nervous, though. What if she was still hung up on her suspicions?

_Her completely retarded and absurd suspicions_, he added. _She doesn't know what she's talking about, though. She's just upset about the situation with that Jill woman._

But, maybe Claire had a point. Maybe there _was_ more to his sudden desperation of wanting to get away from Wesker. Before everything at Rockfort, Steve hadn't really given escaping much thought. After Rockfort, however, there was their fight at the hospital, Wesker's increasingly analytical statements, and then before all that… there was their moment on the island after Steve was injured. He bit his lip when he thought about it again, but this time, he recalled more than just the discomfort he felt at the time; he also remembered the feeling of Wesker's mouth on his wound, the feeling of the man's hands on his arm and the feeling of his breath against his skin. Steve could only parallel the sensation with what happened after the Toronto facility when Steve accidentally kissed Wesker. Otherwise, there was nothing quite like it. There was just something about the familiarity of his touch, that deep connection of someone whose shared blood you could _feel_. But, if that was so meaningful and even… erotic… then what was it he felt for Claire's humanity?

Steve had certainly been aroused by her mortality on more than one occasion, but each time, it had been triggered by something relating to her _human _blood. Even now, as he sat just a few feet away from her, he had to force away animalistic behavior. _Violent_ behavior. Behavior he hadn't been able to control when hurting Sherry in the hospital. The only difference was that he had been attracted to Claire when he was human. With Sherry, all he saw was a weak, inferior human, whom he had no previous interaction with before his infection.

'_You don't even know what you want. You can't distinguish between wanting humanity and wanting your own infected blood.'_

Wesker was right. Steve had no idea what he wanted or even how he was supposed to decipher it. But, he knew that with Claire, his desires almost related to _hunger_… whereas with Wesker, it was something akin to lust. So, what did that mean for what he _wanted_, and how the hell was he supposed to figure it out?

xxxxx

Sherry was in Wesker's office, sitting on his swivel chair with a clipboard in her lap and a pen in her mouth. She had just finished speaking with Claire over the phone, but she was still staring at the file she received regarding the woman. In reality, she had spent most of the morning staring at the file, uncertain what to do about it and even more uncertain whether Wesker would be angry she had decided to open it on her own. It was addressed to him, after all, but she knew it was about Claire's possible infection. The man had brought her into his office in the morning while he retrieved some paperwork, but he left in a rush after being called up to the hospital level for some kind of emergency. Sherry guessed she was supposed to leave his office, but when a lady came by to drop off a stack of files, the girl had spotted the one about Claire, and she hadn't been able to control herself from opening it.

Looking at the file upset Sherry for reasons even she couldn't comprehend. But, it was as though having to read it brought back all the buried anger she had for the woman, all the feelings of abandonment and loneliness and resentment. Ever since Claire arrived at their house, Sherry promised herself she wasn't going to choose sides—she wasn't going to choose between Claire and Wesker—but she hadn't lived up to that promise, because she chose to work with The Agency, and that, to Claire, was a betrayal. Sherry knew the Redfield wasn't happy about that, and it was during their confrontation regarding her new "job" that Sherry realized something: if Steve and Claire decided to leave, they were going to do it alone. They didn't care about her, because to them, she was a "traitor." She was working with Wesker, and by now, she was tainted. That revelation had only extended during the past 48 hours, the hours, in which, Steve and Claire had consummated their relationship, thus sealing their commitment, not only to each other, but to getting the hell out of Wesker's hold.

It was exactly why Sherry wished Claire's test came back positive. It was a cruel and vindictive thought, but Sherry saw the possibility as being the ultimate irony. Of course, judging from Claire's genetics, she would've probably just shriveled up and died—or worse, mutated into some kind of atrocity—but every B.O.W. had some kind of consciousness at the beginning of their transformation, and Sherry enjoyed in the thought of Claire being aware of what was happening to her before it ended. When Sherry had first been taken by The Agency, these kinds of occasional thoughts frightened her. But, now, she allowed them to process, to continue, and although it made her feel so much like Wesker, Sherry wasn't sure if that was necessarily a bad thing.

Still chewing on the ballpoint pen, Sherry swiveled around in the desk chair, turning to face the office wall. This scientist/researcher/whatever thing was fun, but if she could have something else, too, then she wanted it. Who cared if this made her a hypocrite? Who _wasn't _a hypocrite at least once in their life? Claire was living proof that a human being could believe in one thing—and vocally _state_ it, too—but then turn around and do the exact opposite. Sherry's morality had been slipping for a long time. She was only thirteen, but she felt a like a million years existed between her time in Raccoon City and _now_, and every second within had taught her something, something that led to allowing violent thoughts run through her mind. And, _shit_, it felt good.

Sherry turned the swivel chair back around when she heard someone opening the office door. Her first instinct was to duck under the desk and _hide_, not wanting to be caught in the man's office when she was supposed to be in the labs by now, but it didn't take long for the person to enter, and Sherry realized that it was Wesker himself.

"You're still in here?" Wesker asked, his tone bland.

Sherry ignored this, countering his question with one of her own. "Is everything okay up at the hospital?"

Wesker nodded. "Yes, everything is fine now." He then spotted the clipboard in the girl's lap. "What is that?" he wondered.

"Someone dropped off some files right when I was leaving," Sherry told him, and her eyes narrowed to the file as she continued to chew on the pen. "One of them was Claire's test results."

Wesker raised an eyebrow, now interested. "Oh?" he said, stepping towards the desk, eager to see the paper.

Sherry hesitated before pinning the clipboard against her chest, quickly saying, "I already called Claire." She looked up to Wesker, making eye-contact. "She's not infected."

There was a brief moment of silence, and Sherry knew there must have been some disappointment in him, because she saw his mouth move down just a bit. Although she didn't mean to, she ended up laughing, eventually handing over the clipboard as she tried to control her chuckle. Wesker examined the results carefully, then threw down the clipboard when he was finished.

"You're disappointed," Sherry concluded, absentmindedly moving the swivel chair back and forth, left and right. "You wanted her to get infected and die a slow death or something. Right?"

Wesker was already busy sorting through the new stack of files that had been delivered. "Where's the fun in that?" he pondered, opening an envelope from its side. "Although, judging from your tone and blatant description, I'm guessing _you_ wanted that for Claire."

The blonde swallowed. "…Maybe," she replied distantly, turning the chair to its side to avoid his gaze. "Hypothetically, what if I did?" she then asked, losing some stability in her tone.

"Well," he said after he finished looking through the mail, "I think it would perhaps make you quite similar to your father."

Sherry sucked in her bottom lip. "Is that a bad thing?" she decided to ask, peeling some of the ballpoint pen's loose design. "…Actually, don't answer that. I'm not sure I want to hear it." She gave a dissatisfied look, finally deciding to stand up and get out of Wesker's chair.

"You said you informed Claire of the news, correct?" Wesker then asked.

"Yeah… She sounded weird, though. I think Steve and her were fighting. _Again_." This made her smirk a little. "That's all they ever do. I don't know why they bother sometimes." She slumped against the office wall, keeping her eyes on the floor.

Wesker took a seat as he reorganized his desk. "Well, Steve's a teenage boy. He doesn't know what he wants." He paused for a moment as he threw some papers away in the trash. "And, Claire, she's a Redfield."

"I saw that newspaper on the coffee table this morning," Sherry told him. "Jill Valentine was a part of S.T.A.R.S., wasn't she? Does that mean Claire knew her through Chris?"

"Yes, but Claire will be more concerned about what this means for her brother," Wesker informed Sherry. "When I went up to the hospital just now, one of my men informed me that Chris and Leon are still lingering around Toronto, and from the looks of it, they're planning to go to the facility tomorrow. I'm not surprised."

"And… you're going to take Steve and Claire with you," she concluded. "Isn't there anything _I_ can do to help?" She looked displeased, slumping her shoulders as she continued to lean against the wall.

Wesker looked up at her. "Claire is still of some use to us at the moment," he explained. "So, if your sudden eagerness to assist me has ulterior motives of revenge, it will have to wait, Sherry."

"But, don't you think she deserves it at this point?" the girl pressed. "I know she doesn't feel like she has any control, but that's not exactly traumatic. And, besides, Steve and her are all buddy-buddy now. They don't care about me, and they have every intention of escaping whenever they get the chance."

"I would say Claire has suffered quite a bit," he offered. "Emotionally, she's an absolute mess, and by now, she barely resembles her former-self. She's willingly assisted me and obeyed my orders with very little manipulation, and she's spent a great deal of time doing nothing about her situation simply because of her connection to Steve. Once she is back with her brother, she'll realize all she has done, and she'll hate herself even more than now. Her brother will see the change as well."

The blonde girl allowed that to process for a moment before saying, "Does this mean you're going to _let _Claire go back with Chris when they meet up tomorrow? I thought you said she was still of good use or whatever."

He didn't respond. Instead, the man stood up and began heading out of the office. Sherry immediately followed, closing the office door behind her and catching up with the man as he walked down the corridor, back towards the labs.

"Tell me," she pressed, walking alongside him.

"I brought Claire here for numerous reasons," he stated, stopping at one of the elevators. "For one, I knew it would hurt Chris to have her go missing. Secondly, it was in my best interests to know whether or not she would be any use to us as a test subject, which she's proven not to be. But, above all else, look what it's done to her. That is satisfying enough, and the only way to extend its success is to drop her back off with her dear brother so they can suffer together."

Sherry watched as he selected a floor on the button panel. She wasn't sure how she felt about any of what he said, but she supposed it made sense. Claire clearly saw the opportunity to leave once reuniting with Chris, but now, the only thing that confused Sherry was what that meant for Steve. She knew Claire cared for Steve, but if she had to choose between Steve and Chris… Well, Sherry knew the answer, and she was sure Steve did, too. When she had been drilling through her thoughts earlier, she hadn't really considered that possibility, and now it made her want to change her outlook, because maybe Steve was innocent in all this, maybe he was bound to be Claire's victim, too.

"Are you bothered by that prospect?" Wesker eventually asked.

"…I think I'm just worried about Steve," she admitted. "Before Claire came along, Steve and I got along pretty well. Now he's weird and violent."

"Well, Steven certainly had no right to lay his hands on you," Wesker reasoned as the elevator arrived, "but I intend to talk some sense into him before tomorrow."

Sherry's expression flattened, and she wondered if "talk sense into" was code for _threatening _the boy. Regardless, she watched as Wesker entered the elevator, deciding not to follow him this time. She wasn't even sure if there was anything in the lab to do since no one sent out a search mission for her earlier, and honestly, she was thankful. She felt too burnt out from conversing with the older man to get any work done. All she wanted was to clear her head.

xxxxx

"Sonnet," by The Verve, was playing on some British radio station as Wesker and Sherry drove back home, but the girl wasn't paying much attention to the song. Her mind was focused on a document she was reading about the T-A.L.O.S. and some of the trials they were running at the facility, most of which she had no idea were happening. When she inquired about them to Wesker, he had told her he wasn't directly involved in any of those experiments, thus he couldn't provide anything that wasn't already in the files. She was starting to get a headache from reading in the car, though, so she decided to put the papers back in the folder and relax for the rest of the ride. They were already off the highway, which meant it would only be a few more minutes until they arrived at the house.

"What do you think Claire and Steve do all day?" the girl asked as she stuffed everything in a manila folder. "I mean, aside from humping each other and then fighting about."

"They think," Wesker supplied dryly. "Being a prisoner makes you do that, and I'm sure they have daily revelations about what is going on in their lives, whether they like it or not."

Sherry made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat. "You know, when Steve first woke up, I used to really think Steve loved Claire," she admitted. "Now, sometimes I just think he's stupid and vulnerable and wants someone to pay attention to him."

"Aside from thinking Claire is God's gift to mankind, Steve clearly sees her as a lingering shred of his humanity. I suppose it's not too surprising he's clung onto her this long."

"Uh… What do you mean?" Sherry asked, careful not to press too much in case Wesker decided he was no longer interested in the conversation.

"Has Steven ever really accepted what's happened to him? He's had the occasional highs of enjoying the power the T-Veronica gives him, but aside from that, he's avoided dealing with the change. Claire has contributed to that because she's a reminder of how things were before, and thus, he doesn't think about his infection too much."

Sherry knew they were on the road that led to the house, which meant their conversation was going to wrap up soon. She quickly said, "You know, I heard what he said about me in the hospital. He said that he felt my humanity, and it sickened him. If that's true, why does he have the hots for Claire?"

"You'd have to ask Steve that yourself," Wesker informed her as he turned into the driveway. Most of the lights were still on in the house, which gave off a nice contrast to the dark evening.

Both Sherry and Wesker gathered various files before exiting the car. Outside, it felt humid, and it reminded Sherry that spring was already on the way. When they entered the house, it felt much cooler, and Sherry spotted Steve lying on the couch, his face stuffed into one of the pillows. He moved, however, when he heard them enter and muttered a greeting. Claire was nowhere in sight.

"Productive day?" Sherry asked, setting down the folders on the coffee table.

"_Errghh_…" he grumbled as he sat up, rubbing the back of his head. He had obviously been taking a nap.

"Where's Claire?" the girl then inquired, scanning the room.

"Upstairs," Steve replied tiredly. He then looked at the stack of files on the table. "What the hell is all that?"

"Just things I didn't get a chance to read today," she said. "Nothing _you _need to worry about."

Steve made a face at her when she walked into the kitchen, grabbing an apple from a bowl. She returned to the living room shortly after and kept the apple trapped between her teeth as she removed her shoes. Wesker had already disappeared to his room, but Steve could hear him talking on the phone with someone. Once Sherry removed her shoes, she placed them near the door and trotted upstairs, probably wanting to change. Now alone, the boy rubbed the back of his head again, still a little dazed. Claire and him had spent most of the day watching TV, but after the Redfield left to go relax upstairs, he had taken over the couch and eventually fell asleep. Emotionally, he felt drained, and still on his mind was everything having to do with Claire and Wesker.

Steve rose from the couch and stretched, still hearing Wesker on the phone. The door wasn't shut, so he could easily hear what the man was saying. He was talking about some kind of scientific mumbo that didn't make much sense, but when the boy heard something about the Umbrella facility, Steve's curiosity piqued, and he found himself traveling over to the den, standing in the doorway as Wesker finished up his conversation. After hanging up, Wesker turned to give Steve a pointed look, having already suspected he was lingering around.

"I doubt you have adept eavesdropping skills, Steven, so I will reiterate: tomorrow we'll be going to the facility. Claire's brother is being monitored by some of my men, and it's obvious Chris and Leon are planning to infiltrate the building within the next 24 hours."

Steve wasn't too surprised by that, but it immediately brought his concerns front and center all over again. He suddenly regretted ever telling Claire that this was a good opportunity to consider escaping, because now it made everything ten times more crucial.

"What is that sullen look for?" Wesker asked, only half-interested. "I would've expected more celebration after learning Claire wasn't infected earlier today."

"I am happy that she's fine," he murmured, not meeting the man's gaze, "but it wasn't like I didn't already expect she wasn't infected."

"Being that she wouldn't have been an interesting test subject, it's all for the better. She's much more valuable as she is… at least when it comes to leverage."

The statement made Steve glare at the man. "Don't think we're not smart enough to have already figured out you have ulterior motives in this whole Toronto thing!" Steve barked, clenching his jaw. "After what happened on Rockfort, Claire is not going to fall for any of your tricks!"

"Oh, so you informed her already?" Wesker mused. "Good. Do me a favor and tell her we'll be leaving tomorrow, too. Spare me having to deal with the girl tonight."

"You're the one that brought her here!" Steve hissed.

"Yes, and you're the one sleeping with her," Wesker reminded him with disinterest. "Although, you two haven't been quite as comfy together as one would expect after consummating your lovely relationship. Strange, isn't it?"

Steve held in most of his anger, settling for just balling up his fists. "Like that is even any of your business!" he yelled. "Sometimes you're just like Claire, you know that? Always picking fights with me! It's fuckin' ridiculous!"

"Picking fights?" Wesker echoed. "I don't pick fights with people, Steven." The man began moving forward, heading back into the living room.

Before the man could actually leave the room, however, Steve blocked him. "You just enjoy watching me suffer!" Steve spat, pushing the man back. "Just like everyone else in my life!"

When Steve attempted to push Wesker again, the man grabbed him, shoving him against one of the walls and causing the younger boy to knock down several wall hangings. Immediately, Steve lunged again, successfully striking Wesker's face before receiving a blow to the shoulder himself. Wesker managed to grab hold of both Steve's hands, so Steve settled for biting the man's arm, pressing deep enough for his opponent to let go, an opportunity the boy used to punch him once more. Steve was yelling obscenities, accusing the man of various things as they continued to fight. Steve's heart was racing, adrenaline increasing each time he landed a successful hit.

Now, he was going for the man's neck, trying to strangle him just as he had with Sherry before. The only difference, however, was that beneath Wesker's skin, Steve could feel familiarity and strength, and instead of heightening his anger… it actually calmed him. His grip instantly fell, and he found himself giving up when Wesker rammed him against the dresser, still going for an attack. His sunglasses were crooked on the bridge of his nose, and Steve could see the anger in the man's eyes, the unwillingness to give up as he transferred his hands to Steve's own neck. When the man realized Steve was no longer fighting back, his grasp lessened, but his hands stayed in position, and he seethed, still scowling in rage.

Steve thought about his next move before acting it out, and he quickly decided to go through with it. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Wesker's and kissing him awkwardly. He felt a change in the man's body, but he also felt lingering fury, a distant pondering whether this was some kind of tactic. The second he attempted to deepen the kiss, however, was the moment Wesker pulled away.

"Steven," Wesker said flatly, holding the boy's chin as he guided him away, "what are you doing?"

He hadn't expected the man to actually reject the kiss. Steve would have been mortified, but he could see the left corner of Wesker's mouth slanted in a smallest bit of a smirk, and it was obvious he was somewhat amused by what Steve had initiated. "I'm trying to kiss you, you asshole!" Steve eventually shouted, aggravated. "Isn't this what _you've_ wanted?"

"Not particularly," Wesker told him. Beneath his sunglasses, his eyes bore into Steve's suspiciously, but the boy's reddened complexion lacked any threat. It didn't take long for Wesker to realize why the boy had done it.

Steve knew Wesker was just baiting him to lose his temper again, which probably would've worked if the man wasn't still holding his chin. He felt exhilarated and with their proximities remaining close, Steve relished in the feeling of the virus in Wesker's body, the virus that ran in his veins and infected his blood and made them so similar. It was enough to make him repeat the movement, but instead of a timid, unmoving kiss, Steve made his one deep. He was surprised when he felt the man respond, eventually dropping his hand from Steve's chin and pressing into him with a fierce dominance that told Steve he was _not _the one with the upper-hand here.

The kiss no longer felt awkward now that Wesker had taken control, and Steve focused on the intensity and the roughness and how he didn't just taste Wesker, but also tasted the virus.

Steve pulled away first this time, needing to catch his breath. He lost the courage to meet Wesker's gaze, however, and instead kept his eyes focused on the ground.

Wesker moved away from the boy, straightening his clothes from their earlier shuffle. "Has Claire's humanity finally lost its interest?" he simpered.

"T-That's not what this is about," Steve stammered, a clear lie as he moved away as well. He felt his face flush with color, and he hated himself for it.

"I sincerely doubt that, Steve," Wesker voiced. "When has anything _not _been about Claire for you?"

"Well, fine," Steve admitted, "but I'm only doing this because of _you_! You're the one who put the idiotic notion in my head that there was a difference between what I feel when I'm around you as opposed to when I'm around Claire. You started this long before I could ever wrap my head around it!"

Wesker could tell that Steve sincerely believed that, and the desperation in his voice only further proved it. But, Wesker could also tell that Steve wanted some kind of mystical answer from him, something that would end whatever was going on in his head. Wesker couldn't provide that, and he certainly wasn't going to act as some kind of experiment for Steve's answers, especially if it meant being some kind of rebound while Claire Redfield was upstairs in one of her moods.

"You should go to bed, Steve," the man suggested. His tone remained the same, not a single trace of emotion in his voice as he spoke. "You're not going to figure anything out tonight."

Steve didn't move right away, but he was grateful that they weren't fighting. But, now all Steve felt was confused, and he wasn't sure if it was because he was disappointed Wesker was asking him to leave or if it was because he still didn't have any answers. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable in the man's presence, a final realization settling in that they had just kissed, something that Steve initiated first. And, frankly, if Steve hadn't done it, they probably would've continued fighting until one of them was dead. It amazed Steve that Wesker was acting so calm just moments after it happened, but then again, he didn't expect anything else from him. He knew it had to have meant something, though. The man wouldn't have been taunting him about so many things for all these months if it hadn't…

In time, Steve moved, and he didn't give Wesker a second look as he left the room, emotions still hanging from him as he found his way back to the living room and towards the staircase.

At the top of the stairs, Steve spotted Sherry in the bathroom doorway, a toothbrush in her hand as she gave him a puzzled look. "Claire's already asleep," she noted cautiously, "but I heard you guys fighting. Should I be concerned? You didn't kill him, did you?"

"No," Steve grumbled, walking past the girl and heading for his room. "I'm going to bed."

**End of Chapter Sixteen**


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen:**

**There's No "I" in Threesome**

xxxxx

From across the dining room table, Steve had a very dull look on his face, one that made Sherry keep a close eye on him as she ate her cereal, silently trying to figure out what was bothering him. She hadn't made an attempt to console him after he went to bed the previous night, but she partly expected Steve to be in brighter spirits now that it was a new day. Claire was still asleep upstairs, but Wesker had left earlier in the morning for an undisclosed reason. Since it was Saturday, Sherry had no work to do at the facility, but she suspected Wesker had gone into the city regarding his plans to break into the Umbrella building later tonight. Perhaps that was why Steve seemed so despondent… but if so, why did he seem so distant from Claire? Sherry thought once more about Claire's true priorities, how her brother always came first. As usual, Sherry felt her heart sink with both hurt and resentment. She still wished Wesker would allow her to aid him in some way when it came to his plans with Claire, but for whatever reason, the man just didn't seem to want her to get involved.

She stirred some remaining pieces of cereal around in the bowl of milk, breaking her gaze from Steve, who was only having a cup of orange juice. Sherry thought about what it would be like if Claire stayed with them, if she somehow abandoned her self-righteousness and decided to join Wesker and The Agency. She had no value as a test subject, but perhaps she did as a soldier. These thoughts were silly, though, and Sherry knew that. Not only did Sherry doubt Claire's ability to convert, but she also doubted Wesker would ever want to put up with the Redfield for a lifetime, regardless of how it affected Chris. Steve, on the other hand, had already proven he wasn't a completely moral individual, and he probably hadn't been even when he was still human.

Sherry wiped her mouth with a napkin when she was finished with her cereal, then stood up to put the bowl in the dishwasher. She returned to the table with a roll of bread, washing it down with some of her own orange juice. The silence was starting to aggravate Sherry, so she cleared her throat, managing to catch Steve's attention.

"You can tell me what's wrong," she started, placing down her glass of juice.

Steve stayed silent a moment longer, obviously mulling over whether that was true or not. "I don't know if I should," he decided on, biting his lip.

Sherry made a face. "Why, you think I'm going to run and tell Albert whatever it is? He'll find out anyway, I won't need to tell him." She took another sip of orange juice.

"…Well, no," Steve stammered, looking at her. "You can't tell _Claire_."

Sherry was surprised by that. It made her a little nervous, and now she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear about whatever was bothering Steve. "Does that mean Albert already knows?" she asked.

"Listen," he said, placing his hands on the edge of the table, "I'm only telling you this because I have no one else to talk to right now. And… maybe because you're that Birkin guy's daughter."

"What does my _father_ have to with anything?" Sherry demanded, frowning suspiciously.

Steve sucked in his bottom lip, and Sherry could've sworn his complexion suddenly became very red. "Last night, when I was fighting with Wesker, I kind of, like, did something."

The blonde girl sighed, giving him a pointed look. It almost reminded Steve of Wesker, but it was an obvious push for the boy to just spit out the story and stop tip-toeing around it sentence-by-sentence.

"See, technically, it wasn't the first time it happened," he explained, "but this time I did it consciously, and it wasn't really prompted by anything other than me _wanting _to do it, which scares me, because I really do think I love Claire, so it doesn't make any sense to me why I would ever consider _this_."

"Dude, just tell me," Sherry deadpanned, resting her chin on her hand.

"I-I… kissed him…" His eyes fell, and his complexion remained bright, but he knew Sherry wasn't expecting this, so he allowed the silence to pass by them as she gathered her thoughts.

After a moment, Sherry asked, "How'd _he_ react? That's not why you were fighting, was it?"

"No," Steve answered. "We were fighting before that, and I can't even really remember why. But, during it, I just lost all my anger towards him, because I felt that connection again—you know, the virus—and I just realized that I wanted to be closer to him, so I kissed him."

Sherry furrowed her brow. "And, you said that's not the first time it happened? Where the heck have I been during all of this, and how has Claire not suspected anything when you're with her, like, 24/7?"

"See, that's the thing," he continued. "I think this all happened because Claire was asking about it yesterday. She's always accused me of defending Wesker, and maybe I do sometimes, but I can't help it when I feel connected to him this way. And, yesterday she was just pushing all these questions on me, and the day before that, Wesker said some other things… and… now I'm just confused, and it's fucking with my head! _Argh_!" Steve pushed his hands against his face, grunting in aggravation.

"…But, what does this have to do with my dad?" she asked again.

Steve looked back up at her. "Haven't you ever thought about Wesker's relationship with your father? I mean, _really_ thought about it?"

Sherry frowned. "I don't think that's any of your business, frankly."

"_What_?" Steve gaped. He wasn't really sure what reaction he envisioned from Sherry, but he certainly hadn't expected her to be _calm_ about it, especially since he was under the impression she never really considered the possibility. "So, it doesn't bother you that he was probably cheating on your mother for a jillion years?"

"This isn't about me," Sherry assessed, steering the conversation back in the other direction. "Listen… Claire and you, I can almost understand that, because you two have a history, and it's almost like a bad habit. But, Albert and you? That's a little extreme, don't you think? You don't honestly think you're, like, in love with him, do you?"

"What? _No_. God, no. I'm not… I'm not _gay_ or anything, Sherry."

"But, you kissed Albert," she affirmed in a bland tone. "I'm not your therapist, Steve, but you said it yourself: Wesker and you share a connection. You share a virus in your blood, and Claire's just… human. I don't know whether or not you're disgusted or intrigued by that, but I certainly can't figure it out for you." Sherry stood up from her seat again, bringing her empty glass with her.

"So, you're not even going to help me?" the boy whined, slumping in his chair.

"Help with _what_? This has _way more_ to do with whom you belong with as a result of the virus than some kind of identity crisis, and I think you've known what the answer is to _that_ long before Claire came along to live with us."

"You're just saying that because you're on Wesker's side!" Steve shouted, glowering.

"I'm saying it because it's _true_!" she yelled back. "I heard what you said about me in the hospital, that you were disgusted by _my _humanity. Whether or not you have feelings for Claire doesn't make her humanity any different from mine! And, now you're just pissed off because you've realized maybe you're more connected to Albert than Claire!"

"That doesn't change how Claire feels about _me_!" he countered, but there was something weak in his voice, something unconvincing.

Sherry was losing her temper now. "_Think_ about it, Steve!" she stressed, her volume rising. "Do you really think Claire accepts who you are? She wants you to live your life as a _human_, and you're not one anymore, so just get over it and get over _her_ before she hurts you!" Sherry grunted angrily after her spiel and promptly left the kitchen.

Just as she was heading up the stairs, Claire was coming down. The Redfield was already dressed for the day, looking well-rested but thrown off by the loud clamoring between Steve and Sherry. She managed to say good morning to Sherry, but the blonde girl ignored her, continuing up the stairs as she muttered beneath her breath. Claire just sighed, reaching the bottom and traveling over to the dining room, where Steve was still sitting, appearing irritated.

"What was that all about?" she questioned.

"We're going to the Toronto facility tonight," Steve announced grimly, sinking further into his chair. "I don't know where Wesker is right now, but I'm assuming he'll be back to take us there later tonight."

"T-Tonight?" Claire repeated. She felt a wave of anxiety wash over her before she whispered to herself, "Chris… I'll be back with Chris tonight." Her tone held dread, and Steve knew she was far from ready to see her brother again, especially now that she feared his rejection. She ended up slinking into the chair Sherry had been sitting in, giving a distant look as her mind began wandering.

Steve was somewhat grateful Claire was preoccupied now. He knew she wanted to ask why he hadn't come to her room last night, and honestly, Steve wasn't sure if he could answer that question without giving away his embarrassment. He took this opportunity to let his eyes roam back up to Claire, who obviously didn't notice his stare, and again, he tried to figure out exactly what he felt when he really _looked_ at her. The image of Claire brought back so many things: Rockfort Island, Antarctica, becoming infected. All those memories were haunting. They were sad. She was connected to so many painful events in his life, and Steve wondered why he would even feel the way he did when she was a constant reminder of all that agony.

"Where's Wesker?" the Redfield eventually asked, rolling up the sleeves on the red blouse she was wearing.

"I haven't seen him," Steve answered, trying to maintain some steadiness in her voice. "He told me about going to the facility last night."

Steve heard Claire let out a sigh, and though quiet, it still revealed distress. She ended up folding her arms, and it was a stance that reminded Steve of his mother, the beginning step of preparing to lecture him for doing something wrong. Sure enough, Claire's eyes set on him, and she had a disapproving expression cast over her features.

"_What_?" he griped, shooting her a glare.

"What happened last night?" she asked, her tone suspicious. "I woke up in the middle of the night, and you weren't in the room." The question sounded so bland, like a wife interrogating her husband just because he wanted one night away from her goddamn nagging.

Steve was a little nerved by paralleling Claire to both his nagging mother and a spouse he'd figuratively been stuck with for 30-something years. When had Claire transformed from having his unyielding affection to being the one who always seemed to upset him? He considered Wesker's statement the previous night, about how Claire and him were no longer so "cozy" now that they had slept together. Was that their mistake, or was it something else?

"I just… fell asleep in my room," he responded, hoping she wouldn't sense the lie.

Steve thought back to the night at the hospital when they had actually gone through with the act. It had been fulfilling and complete, but also awkward and strange. And, in some ways, it surprised Steve to realize how little he had reminisced about it. It was as though it never happened or that it didn't matter. It wasn't like with Wesker; when something occurred with him—even something as small as a kiss—Steve dwelled on it for days, for weeks. God, he was still bothered by the first time it happened, and for goodness sake, back then it had been completely unintentional. He tried to analyze more about his relationship with Claire, tried to convince himself to remember what they had done as a positive thing. Instead, Steve dreaded the evaluation, because the whole thing filled with confusion… and regret. And, that scared him. Claire felt safe, and being with her seemed like the right thing.

For so long, Steve had envisioned Claire in his life, but now he wasn't sure. He could _feel_ the virus coursing through his veins, and he could feel Claire's humanity, too. Something in that humanity was beautiful in its stark familiarity. Another part infuriated him. It filled him with savage rage, the kind he was sure belong to murderers, to villains, to… monsters.

They were surrounded in such thick silence, as though they finally reached a point where they had nothing to say. Like they were strangers.

"We need to talk about tonight," Claire cut in, and again, Steve paralleled her tone with spousal disagreements.

"Tonight" seemed like a million hours away, and Steve wished that were true. Something—and Steve couldn't be sure what—was not going to be same after they returned the facility. He wasn't ready for that.

"Mind games aside," Steve stated, "Wesker is going to make sure you see your brother tonight."

"Yes, I know," she acknowledged, "but what about _us_? What about _our_ plan?"

Steve's throat tightened before he could answer. He wanted to explain to her everything that passed through his head, but if it didn't make any sense to him, it certainly wouldn't make any sense to her.

Finally, he said, "Sherry expects us to go." It was dumb, and it really didn't add anything to their discussion, but it seemed to get Claire's attention. "Why does she hate the idea of us being together?"

"She's a kid," Claire resolved. "I don't think she likes thinking about that kind of stuff."

It amazed Steve how Claire could so easily dismiss Sherry's intelligence, as though the blonde resembled nothing other than a naïve child. Could Claire not see the maturity in the girl's eyes, the shrewdness that mirrored Wesker's so clearly? It bothered him that Claire had this inability to read deeper into concepts and situations, especially when _he _seemed to analyze everything _too much_.

"Honestly, I think it's more than that," Steve said. "I think what bothers Sherry is seeing two people be controlled by one another."

Claire was taken aback by his words, and she grew defensive immediately. "Why would you say something like that?" she demanded. "Did _she _tell you that?"

"Well, a little," he confessed. "Sherry does think you control me. I think she misses the few weeks where it was just her, me and Wesker. You know, before you came here…"

"Sorry for intruding," Claire snarked. "It's not like I _want _to be here." She stood up, aggravated, and began digging through the breadbox in the kitchen.

Steve stood up, too, meandering near the kitchen as Claire made toast. He didn't want the conversation to end. He felt like it was healthy to talk, because it shut his mind up while also allowing him to explore his jumbled conflictions.

"A lot of what Sherry says tends to bother you," Steve pointed out. "When I first woke up from my coma, I felt the same way… and I still do, like when she left just now."

"So?" Claire grunted out, only half-paying attention. She was trying to decide whether she wanted jelly or butter on her toast.

"Well," Steve continued, "maybe we're bothered by what she says because it's true?"

Claire decided on the jelly and promptly removed the jar from the 'fridge.

"Wesker and her are so much alike," he then mused, leaning against the counter. "The way they can fucking read into people. It really does piss me off sometimes."

"Jill used to do that with Chris," Claire supplied. She was still half-listening, and it bothered Steve, because weren't they just fighting? "God… I hope they found Jill and everything is all right," she then whispered, focusing again.

Before Steve could say anything, Claire's toast popped up, and she began smothering it with jelly. Was toast really more important than talking? Steve wondered whether any of her actions were conscious or if she truly had no idea she was ignoring him like this. Finally, Steve just gave up, leaving the kitchen and reclining on the couch. He suddenly had no desire to be around Claire, and he wished Sherry would've come down from her room to settle the tension.

_I wonder what she's doing up there_, he thought, envying the blonde's ability to shut off her problems and distract herself.

Steve grabbed the remote, turning on the television and trying to focus his attention on a talk show. The host was interviewing a bunch of women who were compulsive shoplifters, which made Steve smirk with some kind of malicious superiority. Claire eventually finished her meal, and although she momentarily loitered in the kitchen, the Redfield made her way back out to the living room, seeming more relaxed.

"Steve," she said, folding her arms, "I want to know if you intend to come with me tonight."

Steve looked up at Claire, biting the corner of his lip before saying, "Look, Wesker promised that you would get to see your brother again as compensation for Rockfort. He's using this opportunity because he knows Chris is going to be at the facility. He doesn't care about collecting any research data or anything. This is about _you_."

The Redfield took a few steps forward. "I know that," she confirmed. "What's your point?"

"I don't know much about the feud between Wesker and your brother, so… for all I know, Wesker plans to kill him tonight or something. But, until then, I'm guessing this is one big setup."

"Of course it is!" Claire yelled. "We know that! We may not be sure what he's up to, but that's why we're going to be on our feet. He's not going to outsmart me, not like he did on Rockfort."

Steve's expression fell. "Maybe it's not _that_ kind of setup, though," he reasoned. "What if it's some kind of… _emotional_ setup?"

"A what?"

"Before you came down, Sherry said that you don't accept me for what I am, for the virus. She seemed so upset about it, and you know how much time Wesker and her have been spending together. He probably put the idea into her head." Steve sat up, tapping his fingers on the back of the couch. "Maybe this is Wesker's ways of forcing you to choose."

Claire still didn't seem to be following, so she said, "Choose what? Between my brother and here? Of course it's going to be Chris!"

"No," Steve said, narrowing his gaze. "Between Chris and… me."

Claire went silent. Her arms slacked, and she lost the anger in her eyes. "What about…?" She trailed off, then sighed. "Are you saying you don't want to leave anymore? Do you want to stay here?"

"I… I don't know." The words escaped his mouth before he had a chance to realize what he was saying, but what was more frightening was the fact he knew it was true. He _didn't_ know. Claire was supposed to be he his answer to everything, and now… now Claire felt like his problem, and _Wesker_ felt like his solution.

He finally gained the courage to meet Claire's gaze, but the Redfield only avoided his. Something in the boy possessed him to stand, and he managed to walk over to her, pressing his hands against her shoulders and urging her to look at him. Claire was hesitant, and she was stiff beneath his touch, but when their eyes met, Steve saw disappointment and… anger. The seconds slowed between them—and goddammit, Steve could feel her humanity under his fingertips—but he continued to urge her to speak. But, it was obvious Claire was unwilling to examine Steve's revelation for anything more than its surface.

"You've told me so many times that you don't care about the virus, but maybe what Sherry told me was true; maybe you'll only accept me if I continue to live like a human, something I'm _not_."

Claire pushed him away, and shouted, "But, you have a choice, Steve!" The girl clenched her fists, trying to control her rage. "You have a choice, and you never seem to use it, because you allow Wesker to have this power over you!"

"What about you, Claire?" Steve shot back. "You act like you're better than me, but look at all the things you've done. You've _killed_, too! You killed your friend, someone you _knew_!"

Claire's expression darkened. "How dare you throw that in my face!" she bellowed, pushing him further away. "I was manipulated! Wesker tricked me! He drove me over the edge! You—! You kill because… because—!"

"—because I'm a monster?" he finished for her. He moved away, his mood solemn. "God, you really do believe it."

"That's not what I meant," Claire tried to defend, frowning. "I just… I-It's Wesker who makes you a monster! You don't have to be a murderer because of the virus; it's Wesker who does this to you, Steve."

Steve couldn't look at her now, but he felt something building up inside him. "Stop acting like we're not responsible for our own actions," he seethed. "Wesker doesn't _make _us do anything! You said you wanted to own up to your actions, and yet you still make excuses. Everything you do is always everyone else's fault!"

"I'm trying!" Claire backfired. "But, everything has always been linked to Wesker! He manipulates people!"

"How is he responsible for you leaving Sherry? How is he responsible for you losing control of _yourself_ and killing your friend? It's you, Claire! It's _you_!"

"I _had _to leave Sherry!" Claire defended. "I had to find my brother!"

"Why is it always about your fucking brother with you!"

Steve wasn't sure what happened next, but Claire was on top of him, and she was trying to hit him. It took the boy by surprise, and his first instinct was to fight back. He pushed Claire off him, throwing her aside and causing her to smash into the coffee table.

Claire fumed, yelling obscenities and seizing Steve again. She was trying to strangle him, her thin hands wrapping around his neck as he simultaneously lost control of himself, too. He grabbed onto Claire's hands, twisting them back and causing her to scream in pain before he backhanded her. The Redfield fought back, kneeing him in the stomach and throwing the telephone receiver at him. It slammed against his head, which heightened Steve's anger, forcing the boy to rise to his feet and push Claire several inches back. She lost her balance and fell against the table.

Steve climbed over her, continuing to hold the girl down and fight with her. Claire bit his hand, and Steve grabbed a chunk of her hair, banging her head against the table. Claire shrieked and punched him, and their struggles went on as they yelled and screamed at each other. Steve could smell her blood, and his animalistic wrath only sharpened.

He didn't understand it. Why did her humanity sickened him, why did it lead him into a fury when it used to intoxicate him unlike anything else? He couldn't think; he couldn't reach his mind and realize this was Claire, the girl he had so convinced himself he loved. She was nothing in this moment. She was just a human; a filthy, disgusting human, and he wanted her dead.

Somewhere behind him, he heard Sherry yelling, but she didn't sound distressed. She sounded angry, and between Claire's cries and his grunts, he could hear Sherry saying, "What is wrong with you two? Grow up!" A moment later, someone was pulling the redhead off Claire, shoving him against the wall and ordering him to calm down, to relax, _to breathe_.

Steve's vision was blurred, and he felt his heart pounding and his hands shaking. But, the person holding him was warm and comforting, and he clung onto the figure, breathing heavily and finally feeling his anger decreasing. Minutes passed, and when he closed his eyes, _relaxing_, he slunk to the ground, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Your lack of control is once again disappointing," a voice said, and Steve knew it was Wesker, knew it was his touch that comforted him and coaxed him into sober reality.

_That touch… that virus… our shared blood…_

"Claire, stop moving!"

Steve managed to look up, and he saw Sherry and Claire sitting on the coffee table, the younger girl pressing a kitchen cloth against the Redfield's bleeding scalp. She was wincing and holding her left hand in her right. She was also crying, but something in her tears was angry, not sad.

Above him, Wesker moved away, examining Claire's hand through the girl's disgruntled winces.

"It's broken," he inspected, and before anything more could be said, there was a loud _crack_-sound, and Claire cried out loudly. Wesker took a step back, grabbing a pillow from the couch and throwing it into Claire's lap. "It's back in place, but rest it for now. You'll need it to be strong enough to hold a weapon tonight."

Claire inhaled and cursed lowly as Sherry continued to tend to the woman's head wound. Steve wanted to apologize, but he couldn't speak; he was still warming down from the exhausting rage, the rage that filled him with a type of afterglow he couldn't compare to anything else.

"Steven," Wesker called out, and although the boy wasn't looking up anymore, hearing the man call his name was enough to garner his attention.

"What?" he stuttered out, digging his nails into his knees as he sat against the wall. He knew he looked pathetic, and it reminded him of when he first woke up, and Wesker and him had fought for the first time, leaving the boy beaten and humiliated.

Wesker roughly lifted up Steve by his underarms, forcing their eyes to meet. Steve felt intimidated, but it was their proximity that caused it, not the fierceness that burned in the man's orange eyes. He could sense Sherry's gaze on them, a newfound curiosity emerging as she tried to examine the two's interaction. Steve pushed Wesker away, moving past him and distancing himself from the man.

"Tell me what happened," Wesker said.

It wasn't a question, and Steve knew filling the silence would allow him to focus on something other than how good it felt to be near Wesker after coming down from such a violent fury against Claire. So, obediently, he answered, "S-She attacked me! She started it!"

From the table, Claire hissed in frustration, stranding up and causing the pillow to fall from her lap. "You, Steve!" she hollered. "You did this! You… lose control of yourself and _prove _you're the monster you tried to convince me you weren't!

Behind her, Sherry huffed, responding with: "You lost control, too! You always lose control of yourself! Both with Steve _and _Albert!"

Claire turned to face the blonde, but there was something threatening in her movement, and it was enough to cause Wesker to step forward, grabbing Claire by the shoulder and pulling her back. The Redfield stumbled from the strong pull, but it distanced her from Sherry, a clear warning from Wesker to stay away from the younger girl.

"Sherry, go upstairs and get bandages for Claire's hand," Wesker instructed.

Sherry made a raspberry sound, but listened to the man, heading off upstairs. When she was gone, Wesker looked at both Steve and Claire critically.

"I didn't even hear you come in," Steve voiced, rubbing his elbow, which was sore from the fight.

"You were completely out of it," Wesker told him, cleaning up the mess around the living room and turning off the television. "You probably would have killed her hadn't I come home."

Claire made a noise in the back of her throat before falling back onto the couch, holding her left hand, still wincing. She could taste blood on her bottom lip, and she felt the beginning throbs of a bruise developing on her face.

"W-Why did you do this, Steve?" she grunted out, her emotions flooding her.

"Because I'm a monster!" Steve yelled. "Just like you said! Maybe I _am_ just like Wesker! I don't care anymore!" He turned away, taking a seat at the dining room table.

They were silent for the next few minutes before Sherry returned. The girl looked at the three of them—Wesker setting a potted plant back in its proper place on the coffee table, Claire stifling sobs on the couch, Steve lost in deep thought as he clenched his fists in the dining room—and she sighed. She walked over to Claire, helping her bandage her hand.

As she wrapped the thick gauze around Claire's hand, Sherry wondered what karma her family possessed that destined her to deal with all these people in the first place.

xxxxx

The clock on the wall said it was nearing midnight. Normally, at this time, Sherry would have already been in bed, but everyone was still awake, preparing to leave for the city, and the girl found herself too restless to sleep. There was tension around the house, and Steve and Claire had resided to their rooms, mostly to sulk. Sherry couldn't really pinpoint exactly how she felt about their fight. She found it amusing on some level, but she was also frustrated by their behavior. It really only added to her developing belief Claire didn't belong with them. When the girl had heard them fighting, she thought they were having some kind of weird, violent sex. But, the sounds of sincere pain were obvious, and she had been at a total loss as to what to do to stop them when she came downstairs. She almost wanted to let Steve kill her, and through her angry shouts, her mind had partly been cheering.

Tom Browning's _Freaks_ was on TV, showing on a classic movie channel. Sherry's attention was focused on the movie, and although she had seen the film several times before, she couldn't help getting sucked into it once again. The warped audio, the aged scenery, the authentic characters; it all made the movie so astounding, and although it deeply disturbed her at times, she just couldn't tear herself away.

Beside her, Wesker was sorting through a large cardboard box, which was mostly filled with weaponry. He had brought it in from the car after everyone had settled down. Currently, he was loading—and unloading—various guns of all shapes and sizes, but Sherry couldn't name any of them. She had very limited knowledge when it came to firearms, although she did recognize one as a Browning HP or something along the same lines. Claire had used it in Raccoon City, and Sherry wondered whether she would be using it tonight despite her injured hand. The girl somewhat doubted all the weapons were going to be used, though. They weren't walking into an outbreak, and it wasn't as though they needed extremely powerful weapons to fend off the possible lingering employees in the facility.

Sherry allowed her attention to drift away from the movie during the scene where Cleopatra and Hercules plotted against Hans. She gave Wesker a look, still curious as to what he intended to do with all the weapons. In the back of her mind, her unease of being around the man only faintly registered, but it wasn't because she was bothered by what had arisen between Steve and Wesker; it was simply because she felt evasive by having the _knowledge_ of it. Even Claire didn't know…

"If you want to say something," the man voiced, interrupting her thoughts, "then, by all means, Sherry, please say it."

Sherry hated herself for being so transparent, but it didn't surprise her that he knew she had something on her mind. After all, she had been staring at him for the past several minutes. She hesitated more, however, which made Wesker look away as he continued to sort the weaponry.

"It's… a lot of things," she admitted. "Steve isn't in a happy mood, Claire is all bitchy, they're fighting like idiots, and I'm going to be all alone tonight."

"If you prefer not to be alone, I can take you to The Agency's facility," he offered, eyeing the girl briefly as he replaced a single gun into the box.

"No, I'm fine," Sherry quickly replied. "I mean, being alone in the house is frustrating, but I think I'd prefer to be here than in those stupid dormitories. Unless…" She trailed off, suddenly wanting to head the conversation in another direction.

"Unless what?" Wesker urged, looking at her intently.

"I still want to help," Sherry said, putting her feet on the coffee table. She was fiddling with the remote control in her lap, a gesture of uncertainty and nerves. "Honestly, if there's anything I can do, let me. I promise I won't mess it up or anything." She looked at the man, who appeared impassive to her statement.

"I have nothing for you to do," Wesker finally said, continuing his work.

"How can you have something for _Claire _to do and not me?" she grumbled, almost whining. "I mean, Claire's hand is all busted now, and Steve's emotions are flying. I know you only want to take them to Toronto for some kind of revenge plot, but there has to be something _I _can do to assist!"

"There isn't," he assured. "Both Claire and Steve will get what's coming to them tonight. Nothing more, nothing less."

Sherry looked at him skeptically, and asked, "How can you be so sure?"

"I know them well enough to predict their actions," he analyzed, though his attention seemed more on reloading a gun than on the actual conversation. "Steven is well aware I've tarnished the glow on Claire's halo, and the fact Claire knows this, too, will prove useful in events to come."

"So you've said before," Sherry softly mumbled. Then, matter-of-factly, "I still think you should kill her."

Wesker scoffed, and to anyone else, it would've sounded demeaning, but Sherry knew he found true amusement in her statement. "That's your opinion," Wesker said as he stood, pushing the box against the couch with his foot. "I'm far from done torturing the Redfields, but as of now, this phase is coming to a close."

Sherry sighed as she rested her head against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. She still thought the whole forefront of the events had been meaningless—taking Claire and forcing her to live with them for a few months—but she knew that beneath it all, there was something else, something more sinister. Perhaps their fight today was proof of what Wesker had been telling her, about the two's mental well-being.

"Besides," the man continued, "I think you've already assisted enough. Steve mentioned that his talk with you this morning upset him, so if anything, you helped cause the fight between Claire and him."

"Oh…" Sherry breathed out, knitting her brow together. "I guess that's a good thing."

"It is," he secured. "Steve has finally grown tired of Claire's presence, of her humanity."

"Then, why hasn't he attacked me? I mean, attacked me _again_."

"You don't frustrate Steve on the same level Claire frustrates him," Wesker theorized. "You may not share a virus, but you two share a similar mindset."

Sherry turned that theory over in her head for a moment, then asked, "So, why do _you_ put up with me? Is it really just because _we_ have, uh, similar personalities or whatever?"

There was a pause.

"No," Wesker eventually said. "It's because I knew you before I became infected; I knew you when I was human. Steve may have known Claire when he was human, but it was only for a few days. I knew you for years. That, and I knew your father. I don't see you strictly as a human, Sherry."

The girl fiddled with the remote again, uncertain how to respond to that. She thought it was a compliment, but what if it wasn't? She wasn't quite sure what he meant by it, but she figured she ought to be grateful by how Wesker perceived her.

Wesker made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat as he finished sorting the weapons and lifted the box onto the end of the couch. "There is something else you can do for me, Sherry," he then considered, adjusting his sunglasses.

The girl sat up, giving him her full attention. "What is it?" she asked.

"We have about fifteen minutes before we need to leave for Toronto," he said. "I'd like you to talk to Claire before we go."

Sherry's expression flattened. "That's it?" she asked, disappointed. "About what?"

"About Steve," he told her. "Enforce the idea of her differences from him the way you did to Steve this morning."

"I… Well, I…"

"If you'd prefer not to, that's fine as well. But, I figured I would give you the opportunity."

"No, I will!" she quickly said, jumping up from the couch. "I'm just curious why, you know? If you're so sure this is going to play out how you predict—with Claire and Steve leaving—then why do you need me to talk to Claire? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad to help, but I'm just curious."

"When did I ever say anything about Steven leaving?" Wesker wondered, picking up the box of weapons and lugging them with him as he prepared to walk towards the door.

Away from her view, Sherry heard the door open as he left, and she frowned deeply. But, she was quick to move, wanting to be gone from the living room before he returned. She really had no idea what she was going to say to Claire, but for the first time, she realized this might be the last night she would ever see the woman.

Upstairs, in the bathroom, Steve was brushing his teeth, and his entire demeanor looked full of lingering resentment. He was dressed all in black, and he was wearing a thick, long-sleeved jacket that looked way too heavy in this kind of summer weather. Sherry continued walking, but she knew Steve felt her presence.

Inside Claire's room, the Redfield was attempting to tie her combat boots. She was having a hard time, however, due to her wounded hand, and she looked annoyed. Sherry sighed and walked into the room, a silent offer to help her.

"Thanks," Claire said, extending her leg to Sherry as she continued to sit on her bed. "God, my hand hurts so much." She tried stretching it, but the gauze prevented much movement, and she clenched her teeth, feeling the fragility of her bones.

Sherry finished tying Claire's right shoe. "At least Albert popped it back it place or whatever," she said, tucking in the woman's black military pants into the top of the boot.

Claire grimaced, showcasing her lack of gratefulness towards the man. "What are you going to be doing tonight?" she then asked, her mind wandering back to the upcoming night.

Sherry was busy tying Claire's other boot when the opportunity to drive the conversation in the proper direction presented itself nicely. "Just work," she lied, finishing Claire's shoe. "Not as exciting as breaking and entering and reuniting with your brother." She shrugged.

The brunette bit her lip as she rested her feet against the floor. "That is, of course, if Wesker doesn't kill Chris before I get the chance to see him…" She shook her head, seeming lost in the thought. "To add to the blow, I don't think Steve cares about me anymore, and I doubt he's going to leave with me."

Sherry sat up, standing in front of Claire and placing her hands on her hips. "I was there after you fight with him. I heard what you said about him, about him being a monster. I think your stance on who he is has been clear for a very long time."

"So has his stance on me!" Claire declared. "This sudden hatred for me, a human, and his obsession with Wesker…! It makes me sick!"

Sherry raised an eyebrow, wondering exactly what she meant by that. She thought back to the instant Wesker tore Steve off from Claire and how the man pushed the redhead against the wall, helping him calm down. It looked intimate, but their interaction was also beautiful, because it proved the connection they shared. The virus within them drew the two to each other, and it was a feeling that only they could understand. That scene, along with what Sherry knew transpired between them in private, made the girl's displeasure for Claire's presence thicker, more prominent. She considered telling Claire about the depth of Wesker and Steve's relationship, but she didn't know if it would endanger Steve at some point during the night. Perhaps if Sherry just danced around the issue…

"They're both Tyrants," the blonde told Claire. "Even your past with Steve can't compare to the virus he shares with Albert."

"And, what, that justifies them groping each other the way they do?" she muttered.

Sherry tilted her head, both impressed and surprised by Claire's words. How much had she picked up on between them? Sherry had never seen anything unusual between them, and even after Steve had confided in her, the girl had difficulty looking back and finding anything.

"Groping…" Sherry echoed, amusement in her voice. "Isn't Steve a little young for Albert?" she mused, purely for play. "Then again, age didn't stop you from thinking Albert might have held some interest in me." She cut a disapproving look at Claire.

"It's not age that bothers me," Claire admitted, redoing her ponytail. "It's…" She trailed off, pushing in her lips hesitantly.

"It's the fact they're both men?" Sherry offered dryly. "Come on, Claire, that's pretty lame of you to say."

Claire adjusted herself on the bed, appearing distressed. "Doesn't it bother you?" she asked. "You've lived with Wesker for so long, and you seem to accept everything about him!"

Sherry was visibly disappointed by Claire's close-minded behavior. "It's not my business," she said. "And, regardless, I doubt Albert's love life is ever going to directly affect me."

Claire frowned. "So… you think there's something going on between them?"

"Hmm, maybe…" she answered with a shrug.

She was jerking Claire around at this point, mostly because it amused her, but it also fed into what Wesker had asked her to do as well. Besides, Claire had failed to mention anything regarding Sherry's fate and whether the Redfield had any intention of still wanting to "rescue" the girl, too. Admittedly, Sherry had already made the decision to stay with Wesker, but Claire's lack of concern for the subject only further proved how self-absorbed she had become.

"Maybe?" Claire repeated, baffled.

"Well, Albert has mentioned a few things to me," she lied, fighting back a smile. "Nothing dire, but just enough for me to decipher some things. I guess they're just drawn to each other. Steve's probably not even attracted to men—just Wesker, 'cause of the virus and all."

Claire looked crestfallen, and just like Sherry had wondered earlier, the brunette found herself asking, "So, why does Wesker accept you?" She pursed her lips as she waited for the answer.

Sherry provided what she had just learned by saying, "Albert knew my dad. They were… friends, and Albert knew me when he was still a human. He knew me for years as opposed to Steve only knowing you for a few days."

Claire clutched the collar of her black shirt with her good hand and inhaled deeply. "It's like… It's like you all belong together," she whispered. "And, meanwhile… I'm supposed to be with my brother…"

Sherry turned away from Claire's view, smiling somewhat cruelly. At least she had succeeded in what Wesker had asked of her.

As if on cue, Wesker appeared at the doorway, folding his arms and saying, "We're leaving, Claire."

Sherry walked out of the room and into the hallway. "Uh, be safe, I suppose," she said, looking up at Wesker. "I'll have breakfast ready by the time you're back."

Wesker just nodded.

Inside the room, Claire rose from the bed, walking out to the hall and heading downstairs. Even though she knew this would the last time she would ever be in the house, it wasn't in Claire to examine her surroundings in sentimentality.

The only thing she regretted as she abandoned the house was not saying goodbye to Sherry, but even then, she doubted the blonde girl cared.

xxxxx

It was hot and sticky and humid and fucking _gross_ outside in the summer heat. Steve had just finished wiping the sweat from his brow when he heard Wesker say something into the headset the man was wearing. Steve adjusted his own headset, trying to find the channel Wesker was on, which ended up being the first one. Behind him, Claire was trying to figure out how to hold the Browning HP in her hands without dropping the gun, but the whole act looked so painful for her. Steve supposed it wouldn't be so complicated if she held the gun with just her right hand, but if she fired, the impact of the gun would throw her back too much if she didn't use both her hands. Steve simply stretched his tired muscles, regretting his decision not to take a nap earlier.

"Is your headset working?" Wesker asked Claire, watching the girl's pathetic display of holding her gun.

When she muttered a response, telling him yes, the man moved forward, examining the sewer entrance. They were in an alleyway, and although Wesker had made no vocal confirmation, it was obvious they were going to be breaking into the facility from the manhole. Claire was partly disgusted by the concept, but she didn't say anything. She was in a depressed mood, and Steve's refusal to acknowledge her only further plummeted her temperament.

When Wesker began climbing down the manhole's ladder, Steve balked, and he grabbed the man's shoulder, stilling him. "Hey, _wait_," he grunted, looking annoyed. "What the hell are we supposed to do? I'm still confused."

Wesker tore away from the boy's grip. "Just follow me," he instructed. "I'll explain as we're walking." He continued to climb down the ladder.

Steve sighed heavily, then followed the man. Still in the alley, Claire let her eyes travel to her surroundings—the pathway that led to collection of dumpsters, the pathway that led back out to the road, and the stupid sewer entrance that would lead to the facility—and she briefly wondered whether she could just _run_ and hide out in the city until she spotted Leon and Chris somewhere. But, she knew better... and she continued to hate how much control Wesker had over her actions, because he _knew_ she wouldn't try to escape. He always fucking knew.

Through her hesitation, Claire managed to climb down the ladder as well, thankfully being able to use only her right hand. The end of the ladder brought her onto a thin pathway, one that aligned the entire wall of the sewer, like something you would see in a movie. It was different than the sewers in Raccoon City, though. It looked more organized and less dirty, and there wasn't really an awful stench coming from the tainted water that continued to gush down the center of the enclosure. Regardless, Steve was making a disgusted face, and through the dim lighting of the sewer, the boy's eyes gleamed almost viciously.

Of course, Wesker's eyes were covered by his sunglasses, so it was hard to see his expression, but Claire figured he was just thinking something over in his head, barely thinking about their present environment. Eventually, he began walking, and both Steve and Claire followed diligently.

"So?" Steve asked through a loud yawn. "Care to tell us exactly what we're going to be doing?"

Wesker removed a small device from the holster on his side. It appeared to be some kind of tracker or GPS or _something_. Claire really didn't know, but there were various colors lighting up, and from what she could see, there was an outline of the facility, resembling a blueprint. She remembered the outline from the maps Chris had obtained prior to the presentation, and they looked identical to whatever was on Wesker's tracker.

"Chris and Leon are already here," the man said, his tone flat.

"_What_?" Claire gasped, running ahead and trying to get a better look at the tracker. "Which symbols are they? The green dots? Where are they right now?"

The man pulled away from Claire's grip as she tried to peer onto the device. "They're in the labs," he answered. "This facility only has a few labs in the basement, but they're spread out. Your brother will probably stay in the labs for quite some time. Breaking into the upstairs offices wouldn't be a wise move."

From behind them, Steve rolled his eyes, annoyed by Claire's sudden distress. He could feel the frustration from Wesker as well, but the man seemed to be controlling the urge to do something about it. There was no sense in losing his temper and killing Claire now that they were so close to pushing her back with her stupid brother.

"I want you two to stay together," Wesker suddenly said, closing the tracker and placing it back in his holster. "You'll be investigating the north labs. I'll take the south."

"Goddammit, stop being so cryptic!" Steve whined. "Are we really just here to say hi to Claire's fucking brother, or is it something else?"

Wesker stopped walking. "Yes, there's something else," he announced. "While you two are frolicking around the facility in vast eagerness to see Chris, I will be looking for something."

Claire grunted. "Like what?" she asked lowly, subconsciously feeling her bandaged hand.

"A file on Sherry," he revealed, continuing to walk.

For the first time since their fight, Steve and Claire managed to look at each other. They shared the same baffled expression, though Claire looked more thrown off than Steve. The woman sucked in her bottom lip, suddenly aggravated, and she ran to catch up to Wesker.

"Is Sherry in trouble?" she breathed out, jogging lightly behind him. "Does Umbrella know where she is?"

"No, it's nothing like that," he said. "When Sherry was younger, William used to have all of Sherry's doctor appointments take place within Umbrella hospitals. Therefore, most of her medical records are still in Umbrella's databases. I need them."

"For _what_?" Claire demanded.

"If she's going to be working in The Agency's laboratories, it's important to know her full medical history, dating back to when she was born," he explained. "Since she hasn't preformed many experiments in the labs yet, this was unneeded, but now that she is opening up to the line of work, we need them."

"And, you couldn't just get someone else to do that for you?" the Redfield asked suspiciously.

"I could have, yes," he admitted, "but since we were going to be here, I figured I would do it. It's really not that complicated, Claire. Please keep up."

"So, would it be an actual file or something in the computers?" Steve finally chimed in, moving some hair out of his face.

"It will be in the computers," he replied, stopping when he reached another ladder. "Don't concern yourself with it. I will take care of acquiring the information from the computer. You two can just head off on your own and find _Chris_."

"No!" Claire yelled, pulling back Wesker before he had a chance to begin climbing the ladder. "Don't even try to make it sound that simple! I know you're up to something, so tell me what it is right now!"

Wesker plucked Claire's hand off his shoulder. He was getting pretty tired of being grabbed by Steve and Claire. "You'll have to wait and see," he told her, turning back around and climbing the ladder.

Claire watched as the man broke open the metal cover and entered wherever it was that the ladder led to before disappearing completely. Still in the sewer level, Claire allowed herself to meet Steve's gaze. He wore a cold expression, and it was directed at her.

Steve's gloved hands clutched the ladder. "To the north labs," he said dryly, pulling himself up and climbing into the facility.

Claire swallowed hard before following.

**End of Chapter Seventeen**


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen:**

**It's Different Now That I'm Poor and Aging**

xxxxx

The facility was dark and unoccupied, but the dim security lights glowed with a lazy buzz, cautioning both intruders and lingering employees that any unauthorized movement would set off the alarms. Wesker was hardly concerned with the matter. At the moment, his eyes were focused on the small tracker in his hands, watching intently as the small green dots sporadically shifted down the outline of a corridor. The device wasn't exactly the most reliable piece of equipment, but it was designed to cooperate with the sensors Umbrella had embedded into the halls of the facility, and it sensed any type of movement within the building. Wesker was also keeping an eye on two red dots on the screen, which represented Claire and Steve. Their movement was much more accurate, as the man had placed tracking chips on the bottom of their shoes to operate alongside his handheld device. Right now, they were standing near the manhole in the boiler room, having done very little since Wesker left them. He could sense they were probably arguing, but the man decided not to concern himself with their issues, and he continued on his way.

_Medical files_, he thought to himself, amused by Claire's gullibility.

For a person who had been so hell-bent on proving she wouldn't let Wesker double-cross her twice, Claire somehow remained easy to swindle. It disappointed the man. There was hardly a challenge when it came to tricking the Redfield, though he knew her ability to accept his supposed chore in the facility had more to do with the mention of Sherry's name than anything else. Normally, Wesker would have felt unoriginal by pushing Sherry into the loop, but the method had worked for throwing Claire off, and that was the main concern.

Truthfully, Wesker _did _need to obtain Sherry's medical files, but that was just one of the two errands he needed to run while in the facility. His other and more ulterior motive would take place later, once he secured Sherry's records.

Wesker turned a corner, heading down another dark corridor that led to a line of labs and test rooms. He distantly wondered if Sherry was asleep yet. It was nearing 2 a.m., and although she wasn't scheduled for any work at The Agency's headquarters the following morning, the blonde girl always seemed to be up at least seven in the morning to clean and cook. Sometimes he wondered why she submitted herself to these kinds of chores when they had a cleaning lady and could have just as easily hired a cook. Perhaps she simply enjoyed the distraction of mundane tasks.

On the tracker, the red dots finally started moving, heading in the proper direction. The green dots, meanwhile, remained in one of the west labs. Wesker put the tracker away, not particularly interested with any of their actions. He focused on his own priorities and continued to search for one of the medical offices in the corridor. When he finally reached his destination, he slid a faux I.D. card through the cardkey slot and waited for the small indicator light to turn from red to green.

He entered when he was signaled to, pushing his way through the heavy, metal door. The office wasn't particularly appealing. It was mostly filled with filing cabinets and cluttered shelves full of large binders. Near the corner of the enclosure, however, was a desk with an outdated-looking computer resting upon it. The laboratory next door provided a ray of light in the office, but it really only showed off the amount of dust piling up on the filing cabinets. Wesker doubted anyone had been in the office in quite some time. Before settling in the desk chair, the man checked his tracker one last time, but there was nothing new.

It took a while for the old and loud computer to start up, but when it finally did, the obnoxious log-in box presented itself. Wesker used one of the local employee's information, having obtained the username and password from Trent. Again, he was granted access, and he promptly began searching for the medical database.

As expected, the entire computer was slow, but once the database loaded, it seemed to speed up. Wesker removed a small data disc from his holster, taking it out of the plastic case and putting it into the drive. He then typed _Birkin _into the database's search engine.

Three results came up: Annette, William and Sherry. Wesker knew he should have just downloaded Sherry's file and returned to his other task in the facility, but for whatever reason, he found himself clicking on William's file first. It was long and complex, and it contained every piece of medical history about the man, including routine physicals and checkups, dating back to the late 70s. The memories shouldn't have meant anything, but there was a deep history behind all those dates, and some he could even remember with exceptional recollection. The last date in particular—September 4th, 1998—was unique for several reasons, the most prominent being that it was the man's last health check before his death. Wesker recalled the man's aggravation for the appointment, not wanting to leave the labs because it interfered with completing his work on the G-Virus. Wesker also remembered convincing his friend to go.

He scrolled back up the file, looking at random dates, some which meant nothing, some which meant almost everything. There was a date listed under January 1986, which caught Wesker's attention because he knew it wasn't a routine Umbrella appointment. This one was listed as blood work, and it was categorized as _Personal_. Wesker knew the reasoning behind it; it was blood work that William had preformed prior to his marriage with Annette. For the average population, compatible blood types were hardly a concern anymore, but for William, it had been. He had insisted on having both Annette and himself undergo the tests. The results had proven their blood was compatible, but Wesker knew that if the results had been negative, there probably wouldn't have been a wedding.

Eventually, Wesker clicked out the file and returned his focus to Sherry's. He began copying it onto his disc, and while he waited, he scrolled through the document. The first half was nothing of importance, just a list of regular appointments through her infancy. The ones later on, starting from when she was around eight years-old, were far more crucial. They were all categorized as _Personal_, and even Wesker did not know the proper reasoning behind them. William hadn't been very open about Sherry's medical appointments, though Wesker certainly had his theories on why the man had been so persistent with her health. He wanted to know whether she would be a viable test subject.

However, now her body had a resistance to the G-Virus, something which happened unintentionally. Wesker had always wondered how her body would react if exposed to the other viruses, though. He doubted Sherry would ever risk her life to perform any kind of experiment on herself, but if the proper precautions were made, there was a possibility she'd become willing. Of course, her father's mutation from the G-Virus seemed to hint that her genetic makeup wouldn't be well-matched for any of the viruses, but if these strange medical appointments had anything to do with the issue, the man probably did everything in his power to manipulate Sherry's DNA to have the opposite effect.

After several minutes, the files finished copying, and he removed the disc from the drive. He shut down the computer, not bothering to wait as the slow machine tried to work up the energy to do so. Back in the corridor, Wesker examined his tracker. There was a yellow light flashing in the center of the screen, signaling some alarm was going off in that particular area. Only one green dot was nearby; the other one was in another hall, which meant Leon and Chris had separated. He was hardly surprised that one of them had managed to screw up while tampering with something within the labs. Unconcerned, Wesker continued, deciding to focus on his second errand before Claire and Steve heard the alarm, too, and went to investigate.

When Wesker reached another corridor, he immediately located the correct lab, and through the glass window, the man spotted exactly what he suspected would be occupying the room. A Tyrant. And, not just a flimsy, pathetic, unimportant Tyrant, but a strong and fascinating one that would prove to be a wonderful opponent for Steve. And, if luck was on Wesker's side, the Tyrant would take out any nuisances, including Chris and that ex-cop. At this point, Wesker had no direct need to kill Chris, but if the younger man were, by chance, to get in the Tyrant's way, it would certainly be interesting to have Claire _forced_ to continue living with them, strictly because she had nowhere else to go.

Just like the other rooms, this lab was locked, too. Wesker went through the process of sliding the I.D. into the slot again. Inside, the surroundings consisted of lab equipment he had seen countless times throughout the years, and finding nothing of interest, he ignored most of it and walked over to the large capsule. The sleeping Tyrant looked similar to many predecessors, possessing the same features and build. The creature was an obvious descendent of Sergei's DNA, but its resemblance to the Virginia Waters Tyrant proved it was infected with the T-Veronica. In comparison to Alexia, however, this Tyrant was much more muscular, and the veins weren't nearly as thick across the chest and stomach.

The large computer alongside the capsule remained active, creating a low hum in the otherwise quiet lab. Although Wesker was familiar with the standard Umbrella program on the computer, he was cautious as he properly navigated to the activation settings. According to one of the dates, the Tyrant had been created only a few weeks ago, though it seemed neglected of tests and trials.

"45 minutes," Wesker said as he adjusted the activation timer. The computer screen flashed with various windows, warning the user of a countdown. In the capsule next to him, some of the cryogenic fluid began to drain, but the Tyrant didn't move. "Seems like ample time for Claire to reunite with her pathetic brother," he then mused, watching the numbers decrease on the countdown.

xxxxx

Steve folded his arms, waiting impatiently as Claire once again tried to balance her Browning HP between both hands. He could tell her thoughts were focused on more than just _how _to achieve this, though; she was also reflecting back to their fight, because every now and then, her fingers would reach up, grazing her face to feel developing bruises. Steve's mind flickered with sympathy, but he quickly pushed it away, not wanting to let his emotions to betray him. They had already tormented him for months—since the very second he _met_ Claire on Rockfort Island—and he was growing tired of it. He was growing tired of _her_.

"This place stinks," the boy finally decided to say as he studied the boiler room. Fumes and steam were blasting from most of the pipes. He squinted through the fogged air, looking towards the exit sign. "Let's just get out of here."

Claire hesitated. "We don't even know how to get to the north labs," she reminded him, keeping most of her composure. Steve sounded very on-edge, and she hated how _scared _she was of him. She knew what he was capable of, and upsetting him was the one thing she didn't want to do, not in the middle of locating Chris. As she shoved her gun back into her holster, she pressed her lips together, whispering, "Please be okay, Chris…"

Steve ignored Claire's prayer and studied the small evacuation diagram on the wall. "Seems easy enough to get to the labs," he reasoned, pointing a gloved finger to the outlines of the corridors. "They're only one floor, according to this, and since Wesker went right, I'm guessing we should go left." He briefly motioned to the cement staircase.

Claire scratched at the back of her ponytail, gingerly following as Steve began exiting the cramped enclosure. She could feel a thin layer of sweat developing on her skin, the heat from both the summer air and the boiler room getting to her. When they reached a long corridor at the top of the stairs, it already felt cooler, and Claire shook her head, hoping the rest of the underground labs would be spared from violent temperatures.

The two walked in silence for several minutes, bypassing many offices and elevators before coming across the actual labs. Behind him, Steve heard Claire exhale about a million times, and from the corner of his eye, he could see the Redfield touching her impending bruises again. To distract himself, he reached into his pocket and grabbed an I.D. card Wesker had given them shortly before leaving the boiler room. It was the same faux employee card he had been given before—Martin Cramer—but Steve could tell there was a new barcode number beneath the photo of himself. He briefly recalled how upset he had been when he realized Wesker had used his Rockfort Island mugshot, but as he stared at it now, he was absent of any resentment. The memories of being locked up in the prison were beginning to fade. It felt as though it all happened years ago, maybe in an entirely different lifetime.

Soon enough, Claire broke the silence and asked, "Do you think Wesker was lying?" She jogged to catch up with Steve, walking alongside him. "About those medical files, I mean. Do you think any of that information about Sherry is even here?"

Steve lifted his eyes from the I.D. and replied, "Well, why else would he just randomly say that?"

"Because he's a liar," was her bitter answer, and absentmindedly, Claire began picking at the gauze on her bandaged hand. "I don't know what Sherry sees in him…"

"I guess he saw this as a good opportunity to collect the information since your brother is supposed to be wandering around here, too." Steve stopped walking when they reached a section of the corridor that led in two directions. Then, cutting her a scathing glare, he clarified, "Killing two birds with one stone. Getting rid of _you_ and finding what he needs about Sherry."

Claire stopped as well and pressed in her lips. "You don't have to be a bastard about all this, Steve," she told him. Her dejected expression rearranged, and she appeared upset, aggravated by his behavior. "It wasn't long ago that you and I were planning to use this opportunity to leave _together_."

The Redfield was careful to watch how Steve reacted to this, but he simply turned away, muttering something and looking ahead, towards the dark hallway. Most of his features were hidden in the darkness, but the angle of his face revealed his orange eyes, glowing against the shadows and forcing a villainous façade upon him. He didn't, however, look angry. She wondered what he was thinking about, whether he was remembering what they had been through on Rockfort Island or if his thoughts were focused on Wesker and Sherry, on his life with _them_. She understood part of his conflictions, because she understood _him_, or at least part of him. But, that connection he felt towards Wesker overpowered everything else, and Claire hated how she couldn't relate to that part of Steve. She didn't know what it was like to have a virus running through her veins, a virus that could connect two people while forcing them to endure animalistic rage and behavior. Claire only saw the human side of Steve. And, for so long, she had convinced herself it was that very willingness that could break the hold Wesker had on him.

The Steve she met on Rockfort Island was still there, but looking at him was becoming more and more painful. He was both a memory of Rockfort Island and a confirmation of the horrors Chris was trying so hard to bring down. When Steve lost control of himself, Claire had often been the victim; he had endangered her life and threatened to do unfathomable things to her in the midst of his fury. She should have hated him for that, yet she didn't. She was far too reminded of herself, because she had submitted to Wesker's control by choice. Claire wanted to chalk it up to some psychology meltdown, but there was no excuse for what she had done to Rebecca.

At the end of all things, Steve may have been a monster, but virus or not, Claire felt like one, too.

"A lot has changed, Claire," Steve muttered, not making eye-contact. "You belong with your brother, and you can't tell me you don't already know that."

"I _do _know that," she sighed out. His direct tone made him sound like Sherry, and it reminded Claire of the conversation she had with the blonde just before leaving the house. She said the past Claire had with Steve could never compare to the virus he shared with Wesker. Claire knew that was true, and she decisively admitted, "If you want to know the truth, Steve, sometimes I wish I _had_ been infected after what we did. Maybe, then, this situation wouldn't be so difficult."

"Well, yeah, 'cause you'd be dead."

The offhanded cruelty stung; it stung and cut through Claire in the same fashion as Sherry's initial malice towards her. That cold, dead look in Steve's orange eyes mimicked the hollowness in Sherry's expression. Just as the liveliness had dulled in Steve, the innocence had dulled in Sherry. It scared Claire to consider that maybe Wesker _wasn't _at fault, that maybe it was _her_. Sherry wasn't even infected, and she still sought out Wesker's company. Claire had struggled the _entire time_ to be on the same level as Sherry and Steve. With Wesker and the two of them, there wasn't a struggle. There wasn't even an _effort_, because they were all essentially one in the same. It was why Steve could hate Sherry one moment and then sit down and play Scrabble with her the next. It was why the loneliness that pierced Steve's spirit was filled by an unwavering bond he shared with Albert Wesker. Claire couldn't compete with that, and she questioned why she ever thought she could.

For a long, dreary moment, Claire hesitated to speak, but just as her lips quivered in preparation for a response, a blaring sound went off, instantly silencing Claire and causing both of them to jolt. Against the unlit fluorescent lights, where a line of intercoms were assembled against the ceiling, a siren was blasting, accompanied by a small, blinking yellow flash. Claire quickly covered her ears and grimaced at the terrible sound.

Visibly annoyed as well, Steve gritted his teeth and demanded, "What the fuck is that?"

The poignancy Claire had reached ultimately ceased. "Do you think Wesker accidentally set something off?" she theorized, still holding her hands against her ears.

Steve looked around the corridors, finding nothing worthy of panic. "He's not stupid, so I doubt it," the boy replied. He put a hand to his brow, already getting a headache from the screeching alarm. "It was probably your brother and that other guy."

Claire wasn't sure whether Steve was insinuating Chris and Leon had a lack of intelligence, but she glared anyway, which seemed to please him since the boy suppressed a grin. "God, that's really fucking loud," she complained, still grimacing. "Maybe we should contact Wesk—" Quickly, the Redfield let her sentence drop, wanting to do anything besides turning to _him_ for assistance.

Steve knew what she was about to suggest. "Let's just find out what's causing it," he offered, moving into one of the other corridors. "Splitting up would probably be better. We can contact each other if we find anything."

Again, Claire hesitated before finding her voice. "O-Okay, fine," she consented, feeling a knot in her stomach as she watched Steve disappear around the corner. She drew her HP Browning from her holster, using her good hand to hold it as she started down the opposite hallway.

Steve's presence from behind her soon faded, and she knew then that she was very much on her own. She briefly tried to recall the blueprints Chris had stolen before the presentation months ago, but she couldn't remember the location of any rooms without the outline right in front of her. It was also really goddamn hard to concentrate with the blaring siren continuing to operate.

Eventually, she focused on something else and the alarm soon became background noise. Unfortunately, however, most of Claire's thoughts filled her with dread. She kept thinking about Jill, about Rebecca, about all the stupid things she had done within the last months. She was so scared to see Chris again. Claire could never lie to him, and even if she tried, he would see right through her. At first, he would try his best to deny it, formulating a theory Claire had been the victim of a bizarre, more efficient version of MK-Ultra; but it would all fall into place, and she could never successfully explain it to him, not in a way that would make sense. She allowed herself to be Wesker's prisoner, hardly attempting an escape and being compliant in the most absurd situations with him. She had sat at his fucking dining room table, playing card games and eating meals with him. She had consented to physicals and checkups and impersonating herself as Sherry's older sister. She had spent her eventless days at his house, fighting with Steve and watching television and raiding the refrigerator. And, to top it all off, she had let grief consume her, impairing her judgment by foolishly insisting not to use any protection when she had slept with Steve. Claire was disgusted by herself, by her actions. She couldn't think of anything that could ever redeem her of all that she let happen.

The buzz she had grown used to abruptly stopped, pushing Claire away from her troubles and surprising the girl enough to cause her to stop walking.

For the slightest second, she was calmed by the silence, and she put a hand to her head, breathing a sigh. But, that relief quickly turned to panic when, ahead of her, the lights in one of the labs flickered on, followed by the sound of someone talking. Her heart sunk, and her body froze even further when she _recognized_ that voice. It wasn't Wesker, and it wasn't Steve. It was Leon.

Stressed, tired and slightly muffled from the distance, Claire heard him speak. "I don't know what I pressed," he said, and it sounded like the person he was talking to wasn't in the room with him. "I just turned on the computer, and the alarm started going off!"

There was a pause, and it verified he was conversing with someone on a headset or another device.

"Well, it's off now, so the passcode was at least right," he then continued, and Claire could hear him typing something into a computer. "Anyway, I don't think we need to panic. It couldn't have been on long enough for the security department to get wind of it."

Another pause.

"Okay. I'll see if I can find any information here, then I'll meet up with you."

The conversation apparently over, Claire found the movement in her legs again and slowly stepped forward, pushing herself against the wall and peering into the lab. Leon's back was facing her, and he was standing in front of a computer, scrolling through some documents and quickly jotting down various observations onto a small notepad.

From Claire's angle, Leon looked the same. Nothing had really changed about him, not even his hair, and he was wearing typical infiltration attire. Staring at him was a stark reminder that the world hadn't stopped revolving while she had been gone. Lives had gone on, and God only knew what Chris and Leon and Jill had been through in desperation to find their friend.

_What's wrong with me? _she asked herself, unable to move any further. _I should be running up to him, rejoicing that this is finally happening._

It wasn't until he closed the notepad, stuffing it in his pocket and shutting down the computer that she found some sort of courage to move. She made no sound, simply preparing herself for an encounter she wasn't certain she wanted to face. The opportunity to change her mind—to forget she had ever seen Leon and just turn her back on the righteous life she had been so used to living—was severed the instant the man caught sight of her.

Fright swept over him before anything else, and his hands fumbled in an attempt to reach for his gun. When he succeeded, he pointed it at the figure standing in the doorway, opening his mouth to perhaps warn the intruder not to move. Whether recognition or relief hit him first was indecisive, but Leon froze in the same manner as her.

"C-Claire…?" he voiced, and the uncertainty in his tone was very evident. He obviously didn't trust himself, and it showed by his refusal to lower his gun.

A memory of reuniting with Steve in this very building soared through Claire's mind, and she remembered the silliness of his first words to her. It wasn't a coincidence when Claire found herself whispering the same greeting to Leon.

"Hi," she uttered.

Upon hearing her voice, Leon finally lowered his gun, and his expression softened. "Oh, my God… _Claire_." He moved towards her, emotional but still uncertain. "Is that really you?" He looked at her—up and down—and he even squinted.

Claire sucked in her lower-lip and nodded. "Yeah, Leon," she replied, narrowing her eyes directly after. "I'm so sorry…"

"Sorry?" Leon echoed, and he suddenly became livelier, more awake. "What do you have to be sorry about, Claire?" He reached out, embracing her tightly and pressing his forehead against her shoulder. "I can't believe you're here!"

Feeling limp in his arms, Claire didn't return the hug. Her arms just dangled, all while Leon lamented her absence, telling her how worried they were, how they _knew _she had to still be alive. When he pulled away, his hands gripped her shoulders, some kind of personal reassurance for himself that this _was_ his friend standing before him. Leon shook his head, amazed, so overtaken by his emotions that he refused to feel or see the bleakness that constricted her.

"We were so worried," he repeated.

Eyes still narrowed, she breathed out, "I know…"

It was finally those words that allowed Leon to come down from the high, the elevation of relief and happiness and shock, and he then looked at her, _really looked_. He became sullen, and he frowned, reaching out to her face and touching her bruised skin.

"Claire, what happened?" he asked.

Immediately after, Leon gave her another once-over, and he seemed to take in everything that was _wrong_: her clothes, the headset, the gun in one hand and the wound on the other. Reality seemed to hit him, and again, his expression changed.

"Where have you been all this time?" was the next question, except now he was interrogating her. "Why are you dressed like that, and why are you even _here_?"

And, because it seemed like the only way to avoid answering more questions, Claire told him, "I found Steve." She managed to lift her eyes, finally looking at Leon. "Steve Burnside. The boy I met on Rockfort Island. He's alive."

"You've been with him?" Leon wondered, but he was still confused. "Why didn't you contact us, or come back to Ottawa and find us?" When Claire didn't answer right away, he then asked, "Wait, where did you even find him? Was he there the day of the presentation?"

"Leon, it's a long story," she interjected.

"Explain it, then," Leon urged. "None of this makes sense. You don't even seem happy or surprised to see me. It's almost like _you knew _I was going to be here. What's going—?"

He was silenced by the static he heard from Claire's headset. It was a muffled, unrecognizable voice, and Leon couldn't even decipher what the person was saying. But, all at once, Claire became stiff—_Steve_, she briefly thought, his voice registering with her—and she quickly tore the device from her head, discarding it onto the floor and moving away from Leon.

Leon gaped, turning with Claire and grabbing her arm. "Claire, tell me what happened!" he ordered, and it killed her to hear the suspicion in his tone. "Did Steve keep you from us? Did he _hurt _you?" He was gentler as he reached for her hand again, examining it.

"It's broken… or _was _broken," she provided, pulling away from him. "It's not a big deal."

She didn't acknowledge the questions about Steve, and Leon knew he had something to do with both her wounds and her behavior.

"He's here, too," the man concluded, not phrasing it as a question. His flooded emotions were wearing down, and Leon was beginning to put one and two together. "You said Wesker took Steve…" he recollected. Leon took a step back and hooded his eyes with mistrust. "That means Wesker's here, too. T-That means you're here…_ with him_."

"No!" Claire yelled, violently shaking her head. "No, Leon, it's not like that, I swear! He brought me here, yes, but…" Her sentence fell, and she found herself void of explanations, feeling lifeless and so unlike herself.

"But, _what_?" Leon demanded, and when he grabbed onto her shoulders this time, it was in desperation, maybe even anger.

"But—"

With impeccable timing, as always, something far away howled, a grizzly wail that interrupted any opportunity Claire had to explain her misdeeds. A shatter of glass commenced, and a thunderous roar of footsteps followed. Neither of them jumped, though. Somehow, noises like this—horrid, loud, _monstrous_—were a common occurrence in their lives, and both Claire and Leon knew it came from a creature within the labs; a creature that had, undoubtedly, just found its way out of its prison.

Leon cursed beneath his breath. "I had a feeling this place would be crawling with monsters…" he grunted out, readying his gun.

Claire felt surprisingly collected, but she attributed it more to the numbness invading her than an eagerness to take on whatever was roaming the corridors. The creature sounded close, wallowing violently as it searched for its prey, and Claire flashbacked to running from a mutated William Birkin, escaping his attacks with Sherry, a helpless child, by her side.

"We need to find Chris," she stated lowly. "We need to find him and get out of here, Leon."

Leon clearly was keeping his guard up, but the desperation in Claire's eyes was something he had seen before. It was honest and sincere, and it corresponded to the Claire _he _knew. He couldn't be sure of what she had endured and whether or not any of it was even moral, but there had to be an explanation, because this was _Claire_. Right now, they needed to cooperate. He could ask questions later.

"Let's go," Leon finally insisted, but he didn't wait for her as he left the lab, gun still cocked.

Claire pressed her gun between her hands and tried her best to ignore the pain she felt at the center of her left palm. Once she stepped out of the lab, beginning to follow Leon back down the hallway, she was partly convinced this was a hallucination. There was a terrible chill in her body, and it matched the suffering she faced upon betraying Chris and Leon to assist Wesker. Only, now, she felt as though she betrayed Steve. He was searching the labs, probably still trying to contact her now that the alarm had stopped, and if that was so, Steve was more likely to find Chris before they did. Claire wasn't sure why that frightened her above all else.

xxxxx

Claire wasn't answering him on the goddamn headset, and it was starting to piss Steve off. He had returned to the center of the corridors to see if Claire was waiting for him there, but the area had been completely empty, and now—after wandering around the labs for a good ten or so minutes—he was pretty goddamn lost.

He exhaled heavily, sick and tired of walking around in circles. He was also bored. This wasn't nearly as eventful as he anticipated, and he hadn't seen _anyone_ in the labs, not even Wesker. Steve was almost starting to think everyone abandoned him, that all the action was going on someplace else.

_At least that fucking alarm is off._

Of course, there still wasn't an explanation for it. When he tried to reach Claire to ask if she disabled something, there hadn't been a response, and Wesker still hadn't contacted him about anything, either. Normally, by now, paranoia would have gotten the best of Steve—fearing something dreadful happened to Claire at the hands of Wesker—but he just couldn't get himself to feel anything. Right now, he was happy to be away from Claire. He didn't understand why Wesker forced the two to stay together. In the cramped hallways, all Steve could smell was her humanity, and when she had started interrogating him about their past together, it only made matters worse. That familiar rage had started to build up in him again, and when he looked at her, all he saw was this rotting bag of flesh before him, judgmental and so fucking self-righteous.

After another several minutes, Steve stopped walking and started to adjust his headset. "Wesker?" he droned into it, sounding tired. He briefly wondered if Sherry was experiencing the luxury of sleep. When he didn't receive an immediate reply, he became aggravated, and then pressed, "Come on, asshole, are you there?"

Finally, there was static on the other end. "What do you want, Steve?" the man said.

Steve suddenly felt relieved, happy he hadn't been abandoned. "Did you, um, hear that alarm earlier?" he decided to ask first. The boy leaned against a wall, trying to put the pressure off his feet for a moment.

"No, but I saw something going off on my tracker earlier," Wesker told him. "Chris and Leon must have triggered something, which isn't surprising." He sounded irritable upon mentioning the two men, but his voice remained comforting to Steve, because it was familiar and soothing.

"Well, before the alarm stopped, Claire and I kind of separated to figure out what it was, and I can't find her now," Steve unveiled.

"I can see that," the man observed, obviously looking at the tracking device. "In fact, Steve, from the looks of it, she's with either Chris or Leon right now."

Steve wasn't expecting to hear that, nor was he expecting his body to stiffen, growing cold a second later in an undeniable quiver of dismay. "W-What?" he managed to stutter out, though he was trying to sound unfazed by the news. "Where are they?"

"They're in the north labs now," Wesker informed him, and Steve could hear shuffling on his end of the line, possibly the result of putting away the tracker.

The boy curled his bottom lip. Had Claire found Chris, or had she run into that other guy first? And, what were they talking about? Was it an emotional reunion with no explanations needed? Were they already making plans to get the hell out of the facility and as far away from Wesker as possible? Steve could just _sense _Claire already forgetting about him, and he didn't understand why that bothered him, especially when he had been so prepared to let her go.

"Where are _you_?" Steve asked him next, sounding more controlled now.

After a haze of static, Wesker said, "Upstairs, in the offices." There were distant sounds in the background, a clanking of a keyboard and a shuffling of papers. "David Musser has apparently been replaced by another executive. Shame there's no memorial plaque for the man you murdered last time you were here."

Wesker was trying to bait him, and Steve knew this, but instead of becoming angry, he felt his mouth twitch, fighting back a small smirk. Back then, he was so overwhelmed by the senses the virus gave him, and he hadn't known what to do with his strength. Every time he lashed out, he had unexpectedly caused harm, and while he still faced that problem now, there was something more conscious in his actions. Earlier in the evening, when he had attacked Claire, Steve _knew _he wanted her dead, at least in that moment. Claire could've ended up just like the man Steve had killed in this very building, and Steve wondered whether he would've regretted taking her life had Wesker not intervened.

"In any case," Wesker then continued, sounding far more attentive now, "I'm sure it won't be long until all three of them are reunited and begin to plan their great escape. However, they'll have some challenges to face before that can happen."

Steve furrowed his brow. "I'm afraid to ask," he admitted.

"Just as Umbrella was conducting T-A.L.O.S. trials on Rockfort Island, they're using the labs here to experiment with the T-Veronica," he carefully explained, "and since they're apparently in no rush to collect their own combat data, I've taken upon myself to run it for them."

The boy stayed silent until he was able to fully process what had been said. He knew what that meant, and he wasn't necessarily taken aback by the ulterior motives. Smugness laced Wesker's words, and while he was obviously satisfied with himself, Steve didn't quite understand why the older man would give him prior notice.

"Why are you telling me this?" Steve questioned.

"The Tyrant is infected with the T-Veronica," Wesker told him. "You and I managed to destroy that T-A.L.O.S. creature on Rockfort Island, and she, too, was infected with the same virus. Aren't you curious whether Umbrella is manufacturing Tyrants superior to you?"

"Not fucking really, no," he grunted out as he pulled at the tips of his black gloves. Then, more confidently, he said, "You may want to see if I'm a formidable opponent to the stupid thing, but this is also about making things more difficult for Claire and her brother."

"Of course it is, but you should be grateful I've given you a fair warning."

"I just don't understand _why_," he complained.

"Perhaps it's beneficial to the research," Wesker replied. "Or, perhaps, Steve, now that you've realized you belong with your own kind, I no longer see you as completely useless."

The line immediately went dead afterwards, returning Steve to the silence of the building. He ran his gloved fingers through his bangs as he tried to figure out what to do next. Steve was almost considering just leaving the labs and meeting up with Wesker upstairs, but he wasn't even sure how he managed to get through all the security, and the boy didn't want to risk it. Leon and Chris had already screwed something up, and any more mistakes could've put them all at risk.

_It's not like I should even be concerned_, he then thought, frowning to himself. _Claire won't answer me, so she's obviously too distracted with her happy little reunion to care._

In his mind, he pictured the whole thing as a pathetic, cheesy display: Claire collapsing into the arms of her brother and professing all the horrid experiences she had with Wesker. Chris would pat her on the back, assuring his sister she was strong, and that together they would defeat all evil in the world. Claire hadn't said much about the other guy, Leon, but she had escaped Raccoon City with him, and he obviously knew Sherry. If Claire intended to tell Leon about the girl, how would he react? Would Leon and Chris even care now that they had Claire back?

Steve was halfway through envisioning another scenario—one that involved Claire conjuring up a pile of excuses once her friends realized exactly what she had been up to while "missing"—when something in the atmosphere changed, becoming colder and more ambient. He felt something. It was strong and foreign, and the crushing claustrophobia of the hallways made it easier for Steve to interpret the feeling. Someone else was nearby.

Someone uninfected, someone _human_, and someone who definitely was not Claire.

Without making a sound, Steve carefully drew his gun. The moment he moved, however, he sensed the sleuth was suddenly closer, because that terrible, overwhelming scent of a human strengthened, and it shifted Steve's focus. Their scent was different and new, and unlike Sherry and Claire, who Steve _knew _and was used to, this person was a stranger, and their presence threatened the boy. He knew it was either Leon or Chris.

His eyes flashed in various directions, desperately wanting to be one step ahead. But, distracted a second too long, Steve heard an isolated warning from a male voice—"Freeze!"—and it was followed by the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed against his back.

_Fuck._

Steve tried to turn around to face his opponent, but the barrel dug deeper into his back, and the man demanded, "Who are you?" The voice was deep, full of confidence that proved he was not inexperienced. "What are you doing here?" was the next question, and it was spoken with a lack of patience.

Away from the man's view, Steve smirked. "I have a better question," the boy simpered, hardly containing the amusement in his voice. "Which one of Claire's disciples are you? Leon, or better yet, Chris?"

The mention of Claire caused the gun barrel to drop from Steve's back. Before the man had a chance to violently whirl Steve around, the boy turned on his own accord, and he was pleasantly surprised to find himself facing none other than the infamous Chris Redfield.

"How do you know my sis—?"

But, Chris' words immediately dropped at the sight of Steve's eyes. The tension in his body was replaced with confusion, and he stared at the younger boy. His eyes were orange, bright, _glowing_, and they resembled a pair he had seen before, leaving him to feel disgusted.

"You're infected," Chris said, quickly shoving his gun into the boy's face. Angrily, he then spewed, "_Who are you_? How do you know my sister, and where is she?" He seethed heatedly, causing the gun to shake in front of Steve.

Steve almost laughed. Chris Redfield thought he had all the power with that gun in his hands. Clearly, he had learned nothing from his encounters with Wesker. Against Steve, Chris was nothing; just a measly human, inferior in every way. There was something strange in their encounter, though, and Steve figured this was supposed to be more cinematic. He considered that maybe he was supposed to find a wounded Chris, bleeding in the corridor and desperately grasping onto his life while Steve was forced to make the decision to save him or not. But, _this_ was just aneveryday run-in, one that felt more bland than majestic.

"_Answer me_!" Chris screamed, pressing the barrel of his gun against Steve's neck.

The russet-haired boy's lips were displaying a smile as he extended his arm, a movement that, for the slightest moment, held no validation of a threat until it really _moved_, flinging the gun out of Chris' hand and subsequently pressing onto his throat, choking him. Chris jerked beneath the grip, hearing his firearm drop to the ground in a loud _clank._ The leather gloves restraining him were warm, and Chris could feel the fingers pressing the surface of his skin, digging at the bones. The man writhed aggressively, but every effort to escape was unsuccessful, leaving him trapped and unable to breathe.

"W-Who the hell are you…?" the man gagged out. His jaw clenched, refusing to give up as he glared at his younger opponent. He was practically a kid, and his horrifying strength—merciless and _inhuman_—was the result of whatever virus had infected him.

"Steve Burnside," the boy finally said, never losing the sturdiness in his voice.

It struck a chord within Chris, but he was losing his breath, and he couldn't think.

"I grew to know your sister quite well while escaping Rockfort Island," Steve slowly clarified. His eyes, which briefly flickered with laughter in the lightless halls of the facility, soon became hard and concentrated. "However," he then continued, "I think it's safe to say that within the last few months, I've become _far more _acquainted with her."

His dangerous grip tightened, and he smiled at Chris, collected and confident. And, at that moment, Chris was able to draw the parallels of this kid directly to Albert Wesker.

**End of Chapter Eighteen**


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen:**

**End of the World Party (Just in Case)**

xxxxx

Flushed from the lack of air, Chris seethed in frustration, glowering at Steve Burnside as the boy's gloved hands restrained him. When he tried to speak, Steve silenced him, shoving Chris against the wall and preventing any sound or movement. Chris could feel his vision fading, but he frantically clutched at Steve's hands, attempting to pull the grip away. He closed his eyes, easing the blur as he tried to concentrate on the identity of this kid, on who he was to Claire and what he meant to her. This wasn't the same person Claire had mourned; she had always described him as an everyday kid, as someone, who despite the cold and arrogant exterior, was kind and sweet. Internally, he cursed Wesker's name, knowing that the man succeeded in whatever twisted ploy he had created for Steve. Did Wesker have Claire, too? Had Steve and Wesker taken Claire prisoner and preformed unspeakable experiments on her? Was Claire even alive anymore?

Chris opened his eyes, searing a vicious glare at Steve. "W-Where is my sister…?" he choked out, his words slithering out in multiple heaves. "_What did you do to her_?" Again, he pried at the hands grasping his neck, but was unsuccessful at removing them.

Steve tilted his head just the slightest, and answered, "Don't worry. She's here and in perfect physical health." He flashed his teeth, smiling in a charming manner as he loosened the hold on Chris' neck. "You should be more concerned about her mental state of mind. She has a lot to tell you."

Finally, Steve dropped the restraint on the older man, causing him to fall to the ground. Chris' headset fell beside him, but he paid no attention as he breathed in and out, desperate for air. His entire face was red, including his glazed eyes. Chris wasted no time trying to seize his gun again, but Steve was faster, and he gave the firearm a powerful kick, sending it sliding down the corridor, completely unreachable to the Redfield.

"What did you do to Claire?" Chris maintained, scrambling to his feet and creating distance between himself and Steve.

Steve had seen pictures of Chris. He was familiar enough with what he looked like and the resemblance he shared with Claire. In-person, there wasn't much of a difference, but Steve never imagined that torturing him would be this easy. Watching him heave and suffer, it was amusing, and it was Steve's _human _side that enjoyed the torment. It still felt refreshing and satisfying to have the upper-hand, especially to someone who was supposed to be some kind of superhero. What was it that made Chris Redfield so majestic? Why was Chris the one and only thing Claire seemed to talk about since the _moment _Steve met her on Rockfort Island? He was nothing, Steve thought. He was just some guy who happened to save the day from time to time. Big fucking deal.

Then again, who was Steve to judge? Up until a few hours ago, he saw Claire as the paragon of virtue. To him, Claire had been the epitome of perfection, of _sainthood_, and Wesker and Sherry thought his allegiance was pathetic. Maybe now Steve understood _why_.His loyalty to Claire was the same as Claire's to Chris. It _was _pathetic. It _was _disgusting. And, Steve was horribly embarrassed to have been victim of such canine devotion.

Steve folded his arms and looked at Chris critically. "With the way Claire sang fucking praises about her brother, I thought meeting you would be some kind of extraordinary experience," Steve spewed. "I'm not really impressed, to be honest."

"_Just tell me where my sister is_!" Chris screamed.

He hooded his eyes. "I already told you she's here in the facility," the boy said. "And, I guess since _you're _here with me, Leon is the one with her."

Chris inhaled, practically blowing smoke out of his nostrils like a wild animal. He didn't want to be threatened by this _kid_, but he felt powerless, just like he had been with Wesker on Rockfort Island and Antarctica. Just looking into their dangerous, orange eyes intimidated Chris, and he had no doubts that this boy could completely slaughter him. Chris couldn't fight against someone who had superhuman strength. They weren't like all the other monstrosities he had faced, ones with very limited consciousness and abilities. Chris was fucking defenseless, and he hated it.

He briefly questioned whether this actually was _the _Steve Burnside. Claire had described him as thin, redheaded, _young_, and although the boy before him matched that profile, he simply wasn't what Chris was expecting. He was angry, _bitter_. What had happened to him? Was it the virus that made him violent, or was there something else?

Chris finally caught his breath, and he concluded, "You're working with Wesker, aren't you?"

Although apprehension resided, Steve kept most of his composure. "So is your sister," he remarked, and the right side of his mouth turned up in a smile. He scoffed, amused by his own words. "She'll deny it, but she's probably been more help to him than Sherry and me."

"Sherry…?" Chris echoed, and he furrowed his brow, putting the pieces together. Then, horrified, he yelled, "You've got to be kidding me! That bastard has that little girl, too?"

"Sherry's hardly a prisoner, if that's what you're thinking," Steve supplied to Chris. "She may just be a kid, but she works for him on her on accord."

"I don't believe you!" he shouted. "I don't believe _anything_ you're saying! For God's sake, Steve, whatever Wesker has done to you, we can help. Claire cared so much about you, and we knew that fucking traitor was going to do everything in his power to make you suffer."

It must have been a Redfield thing, Steve concluded. This undying _need _to aid people who didn't need their assistance and the certainty only _they _were right. Self-righteousness at its finest.

"Claire gave the same old song and dance." Steve kept his arms folded as he walked forward, not making eye-contact. "But, your sister is nothing but a hypocrite. She just tells people what they want to hear, and it's nothing but empty promises and fucking lies."

Chris clenched his jaw, controlling himself from losing his temper. There was no use talking to this kid. If Claire truly was here, Wesker was undoubtedly lurking around the facility, too, and Chris couldn't risk his sister getting into more danger. He needed to find her _now_.

"I don't have time for this," Chris grumbled.

Steve immediately held Chris back when he turned to run. "Like I said, she's with Leon right now, so you and I have plenty of time to chat." He watched Chris' eyes flicker around the hallway, searching for his gun and possibly even an escape. "Where should I begin?" he then mused, arranging his features to appear thoughtful. "Maybe the part where Claire and I visited Rockfort Island again, and she sort of accidentally murdered one of your old comrades, Rebecca Chambers?"

Finally, Steve received the reaction he wanted. Chris' movements only momentarily froze as he considered the legitimacy of the boy's words, and although Steve knew the next move was a twist of rage and frustration, the Redfield lunged forward, grabbing his gun and fumbling with the firearm in his hands as he tried to get a clear shot of his opponent. He fired twice, maybe more, but Steve sensed each impending shift of Chris' gun and managed to dodge the crossfire. Chris was aiming to injure, not kill, and he was yelling, producing a collision of nonsense, more accusations of Steve lying and more demands of finding Claire.

The speed of Steve's agility matched Wesker's, but visually, it was nothing the same. Wesker moved seamlessly, like teleportation, and it was impossible to follow. However, Chris could see Steve's movements, and he knew if he could just _concentrate _for the slightest second, he could hit him. With the remaining rounds in the Glock pistol, Chris attempted to shoot once more, but just as he began to focus, he was restrained. Steve had grabbed him, twisting back the man's wrist and forcing the barrel of the gun to point in the opposite direction. Foolishly, Chris fired anyway. The stray bullet penetrated the cement wall as they struggled with the gun, and Chris could feel his muscles already giving out.

"You're fucking insane!" Chris yelled.

But, somewhere in the back of his mind, Chris knew there had to be some truth to Steve's awful, unfathomable words. How else would this kid know Rebecca? There were a million ways Chris could conjure up absurd explanations, but the only ones that made sense were the ones that led back to the staggering possibility. The instant his anger resurfaced, transforming into an attempt to untangle himself from Steve's hold, the boy, too, fought back with brutal force. Chris felt Steve knee him in the stomach before throwing him against the wall, all while keeping his grip locked around the man's arm.

Then, he felt it; he felt his arm twist an inch too far, becoming a horrible pain that was heard in a loud _crack_. Steve let go, and it caused Chris to fall to the floor, both wallowing and trembling. He cursed between the wheezing, trying to keep his vision clear as his surroundings began to distort.

"Some miraculous savior you ended up being," Steve simpered, and all Chris could do was pathetically jab the boy's feet, a final attempt to hurt him in _some way_. Steve took a step back, getting a better view of Chris' suffering. "If you're going to start begging for your life, don't bother. I'm pretty sure Wesker would kill _me_ if I killed _you_. He wants that job all for himself, so I'll respect his wishes."

Chris had his broken limb pressed between his chest and his other arm. "Y-You're sick!" he gargled out with closed eyes. "You're just like him… I can't believe Claire ever cared about you. She must think you're despicable now!" His eyes searched the hall again, trying to locate his headset that had fallen earlier.

"You're right," Steve admitted, walking back and forth in front of Chris. "She's made it perfectly clear what she thinks of me, and honestly, I can't get myself to care anymore. Although, I guess, at the end of all things, Claire and I did fuck each other over equally." His lips curled, and he raised an eyebrow at Chris. "Pun very much intended," he quickly added.

Chris' features were drawn in as he cradled his broken arm, but his breathing hitched just enough to let Steve know he had successfully dissected the statement. "If you even so much as _touched_ her…!" he shouted, letting his words dwindle away in an open-ended threat.

Through his smirk, Steve replied, "Don't sound so offended, _Chris_." The Redfield's name sounded intimidating from the boy, spoken with more power than expected. "As Wesker has warned me many times before, I really doubt your sister is a saint. Claire and I didn't do anything she hasn't already been familiar with beforehand." He scoffed to himself, and concluded, "I think it's fair to say, based on her desperation, she's acted no different than a pathetic slut."

Fury, resentment, adrenaline—_something_—caused Chris to snap, and he lunged for Steve; this time, successfully. Chris pushed Steve to the ground, retrieving his knife and gouging the weapon straight into the boy's neck. It was unexpected, and it fucking _hurt_, and Steve found himself screeching in pain as he pushed Chris off of him, sending the older man flying back into the wall again. But, somehow, Chris was right back on top of Steve, and he was attacking him with all the strength he had left. His arm was throbbing, and the limb was no assistance as he struggled against Steve, but he just kept fighting.

There was blood. _Lots _of blood. They were practically tearing each other apart, and Steve could smell Chris' disgusting humanity, and it only made their fight more vicious. He knew Chris was stabbing him, pounding the knife into any place he could find, yet the pain barely registered with Steve as he began strangling Chris again. His bones were so pathetically brittle beneath his fingers, and Steve was seconds—just _seconds_—away from pressing tight enough to kill him before the monstrous wail was heard throughout the small corridor. Chris froze, and although Steve had ceased his attack, too, the boy immediately used the man's distraction to his advantage. He shoved Chris off him, throwing him in the opposite direction and kicking his broken arm hard enough to cause the Redfield to holler in pain once more.

_How the fuck did I forget about that stupid thing Wesker released?_ the boy thought to himself, clutching at one of the wounds on his arms.

It was when Steve finally managed to get to his feet that the pain set in, causing him to stumble backwards until he caught himself against the wall. He was bleeding _everywhere_. His legs, his arms, his hands, his face. The boy winced and tore off his gloves. He clutched his arm wound again, feeling the blood drip through his fingers as he examined where his clothes had torn from each stabbing. He was slightly bothered that Chris managed to do quite a number on him, but compared to Steve's accomplishments, it was hardly anything to dwell on, especially considering the older man was still lying on the floor, whining like a little girl.

"What the _hell _was that?" Chris questioned, but it was mostly to himself.

Steve tried to sound stable when he spoke, but he knew he was losing way too much blood. "Just something Wesker told me he was going to release," the boy taunted.

Out of breath and still shuddering in pain, Chris muttered, "That son of a bitch is here, then…"

Away from Chris' view, Steve winced. The abrasions on his legs were beginning to throb. Steve suddenly imagined himself as a prickled water balloon, complete with poked holes and oozing liquid. He couldn't let his injuries hold him back, though. Wesker had released the Tyrant to cause difficulties for Claire and the others, but he also wanted to see how Steve could face off against it. Steve had already partially lost to Chris; he was _not _going to lose to some flimsy Tyrant, too.

Steve drew his handgun from his holster, throwing his gloves onto the floor and concentrating on the movements he could sense from the lurking Tyrant. Distantly, he could hear glass shattering and concrete breaking as the ground rumbled beneath its weight. There were gunshots, too, and alongside Claire, Steve felt the more foreign humanity of that Leon guy. The Tyrant was chasing them, and they would soon find their way to this corridor.

Without Claire directly near him, _bothering _him, Steve felt stronger, more himself. Every time she was next to him, he had constantly been trying to please her, always thinking what _her _opinion would be before acting out. He didn't have to worry about that now. The determination was the same he felt when battling the Virginia Waters Tyrant on Rockfort Island. Only, now, Wesker wasn't with him, and Steve had to prove his worth alone.

Whether or not Wesker actually _cared _about him was irrelevant. Steve had a purpose when he was around the man, and he felt useful and needed.If Sherry meant something to Wesker, even if it was just a matter of being his "property," then Steve wanted that, too. He needed to belong somewhere. This wasn't working with Claire. This wasn't working with her legion of protagonists, who dignified their own immoralities by constantly pointing out what others had done worse.

The night they returned from Rockfort Island—the same night Claire and Steve had consummated their relationship—he had been convinced his view on Wesker had finally changed. They had fought and threatened each other, and Wesker had told Steve to submit to Claire's pathetic humanity. And, that was exactly what Steve had done. Without a second thought, he had betrayed Sherry and Wesker, the two people he _belonged with_, merely because he had been blinded by the desperation to make something from his human life _work_. Now, Steve needed to atone for that betrayal; he needed to prove himself worthy. And, that atonement started here.

xxxxx

The Tyrant spotted Claire and Leon before either of them had the chance to holler a warning at each other. Bald and shapeless, it was impossible to guess what gender it had been during its human life. When Claire couldn't immediately see its arm, she feared it was a product of the T-A.L.O.S. research Wesker had told her about, but when it turned, dashing down the corridor and slamming its arm against glass windows, she was relieved to discover it did not carry a rocket launcher. There was one thing she knew for certain, though: It was infected with the T-Veronica. The green patches on its side and the colorless scales on its back were clear signs of the infection, and it made Claire wonder whether its release was accidental or if this was just another one of Wesker's games.

Leon fired his gun first, but the creature kept moving, pushing through the cramped corridors and swiping its large claws at the pair. They both dodged, and Leon shot it three more times, causing it to stumble. Claire didn't know how to react, and she heard her companion yell—"Claire, _shoot it_!"—but she just _couldn't think_. It swiped at them again, and this time, Leon pushed her out of the monster's reach, yanking her by the arm and forcing her to run alongside him as they narrowly escaped the corridor.

Now, it was chasing them. Claire could feel it behind them, like a thunderous stampede headed their way. Leon ran into the nearest lab, still pulling Claire with him. He raised his gun and fired at its head. The Tyrant roared, temporarily stilled as it shook away the pain.

"Claire!" Leon shouted again. He was just about to shake her when the dazed look finally faded. "Claire, _come on_. We have to kill it!"

"I… I need to find Steve," she said, lifting her gaze to meet his.

A defensive scowl developed on Leon's face. "I don't know what happened between you two in the last months, but if you've been with Wesker, chances are none of it has been good." He kept his gun raised, watching for the Tyrant's next attack. "But, right now, we have bigger things to worry about."

"But, Leon," Claire argued, "I can't leave him when we're on such bad terms. Wesker has Sherry. What if they do something to her?"

Claire didn't know if she truly feared such scenario, but it came out of her mouth anyway, and it appeared to throw Leon completely off, because he lowered his gun and gaped at her, confused.

"Wesker has Sherry…?" he breathed out.

Behind them, the Tyrant smashed through the lab's metal doorframe. Its claws wedged into the wall, trapping it and allowing Claire to focus long enough to fire several shots in its direction. Both Claire and Leon dodged the second the monster released itself and swiped at them again.

"Sherry's working for him, Leon," Claire provided as they moved. Her left hand cramped when she fired her gun again, and she winced, feeling the renewed pain of her fractured bone. "And, for some goddamn reason, she's grown quite accustomed to everything he does."

They were running now, escaping the laboratory and heading back into the hall. Leon heard every word Claire had said, but part of him thought she was delusional. Sherry was with Wesker? That was impossible. Leon had left her in the government's custody. They promised to take care of her, to enroll her back in school and set her up with a family. How the hell could Wesker have gotten a hold of her? Maybe that was a foolish question. _Of course _he had managed to get a hold of her. _Of course _he had somehow manipulated her. It was Albert Wesker, after all, and if she proved useless to him, he was going to benefit from it. What a disgusting bastard.

More ammunition flooded from their guns as they occasionally turned to shoot the Tyrant. It was growling and salivating from its decaying mouth, destroying everything in its path. So far, no alarms were going off, but Claire had a feeling things were about to get much worse. When her legs felt the need to give out, adrenaline kept her going. Next to her, Leon was reloading his gun, and it reminded her she only had one extra clip in her holster, nothing more.

_Goddamn you, Wesker_, she thought to herself.

If Wesker had planned the release of this Tyrant, he undoubtedly fucked her over by providing her with very little ammunition.

Claire closed her eyes as she ran, feeling as though she were about to be torn to pieces by the monster behind them. When she heard Leon finish reloading the new clip, she opened her eyes, and ahead of her, to her complete surprise, she caught sight of Steve. Steve, who was positioned in the empty corridor with his gun drawn. Steve, who was injured and bleeding. Steve, who had a dangerous look on his face as he stood in front of a trembling body; a trembling body that Claire soon recognized as her brother's.

"Chris!" she yelled.

It all seemed to go in slow-motion as Claire ran past Steve and fell to her knees beside her brother. He, too, was bleeding, but his wounds were far more startling than Steve's. Chris bore animalistic injuries; scratches and tears to his skin. His limp arm was pressed protectively against his other, and when Claire reached out, he hissed in pain. It was broken.

"Oh, God," Claire whimpered, but her outburst was of relief and happiness. She threw her arms over Chris' shoulders, pulling him close and pressing her face into his neck. "_Chris_, I'm so glad to see you."

Something clicked back into place when Chris managed to return the embrace. Every reservation she once possessed about his disapproval erased. Because this was her brother. Chris was the one person who always acted as her champion when she herself couldn't continue fighting. For the first time, she remembered that just because she had been locked away with Wesker, the world hadn't stopped spinning. Lives had continued, and Chris had been searching for her, and she was meant to reunite with him, to be with him and fight alongside him.

When the siblings broke the embrace, Chris lifted his left hand and held up Claire's chin. "What happened to your face?" he asked her, and he flinched when he involuntarily moved his other arm.

"Nothing, don't worry about," she quickly dismissed. Claire then reached underneath her brother's shoulder, helping him get to his feet as he pressed his back against the wall for leverage. He cringed once more at the pain that circulated his entire body. "What happened, Chris?" she asked him as he tried to keep his balance.

Before she received an answer, gunshots went off again. They both turned, and it was only then that Claire remembered where they were and what they had been fighting. While Leon was firing his gun, Steve remained frozen. He had been watching Claire and Chris, and the anger that caused his features to tighten was directed at them, at their sentimental reunion that only seemed to sicken him. There was hatred in Steve's glare, and Claire couldn't believe the two of them had arrived at such an agonizing point in their relationship.

Leon, who had been left fighting the Tyrant alone, yelled for the three of them to pay attention to the _real _concern at hand; but, the moment he took his attention away from the battle, the monster raced forward, slamming its arm against Leon and sending him back several feet. Leon cried out in pain as his vision briefly went black. He staggered when he rose to his feet, unable to reach for his gun that had fallen from his grip.

The creature growled as it prepared itself for another attack. Leon was inches away from becoming its victim when Steve brutally shoved the man out of the way. It was more painful than helpful, and Claire knew the gesture held no compassion. Leon was merely in the way, and Steve wanted to finish off the wounded Tyrant by himself.

As Leon scrambled for his gun again, Claire's eyes locked on Steve. With one smooth motion, Steve wrenched onto the Tyrant's arm, tearing it from the socket and throwing the creature onto the ground. Steve had discarded his gun and caught the monster in a headlock. Claire could feel Chris stiffen as she held him up, but even when he turned his head, unable to watch the slaughter, she continued to stare, both mesmerized and horrified at the passion Steve put into the fight. She had watched Steve kill before—right in this very same building, where the facility's director had been the boy's victim—but this was different, because he was fighting another infected creature, something of his own kind. The Tyrant was tall, at least by six feet, but Steve was on top of it, dismantling it with his bare hands.

Beneath him, the monster was snarling. With one hand, Steve began choking it, using his other hand to stab through its chest. Thrashing and glowering, the Tyrant soon went still when Steve reached its heart and pulled the organ out from the bones that surrounded it. Claire heard the bones snap, the skin tear, the blood splatter. Her stomach sank, and she feared she would grow ill if she watched any longer.

But, Steve was done. Steve was done, and the Tyrant was dead. Just like that. It didn't even take a full minute.

Breathing heavily in a heap of spent fury, caught in a strange afterglow, Steve remained positioned above the Tyrant. Its body was twitching, and with his fingers still penetrating its neck, he could feel its blood flowing, slowly coming to a stop. No one was saying anything. He finally tore himself away from the creature, and his clothes felt heavier, drenched with even more blood than before.

"You're welcome," he spat out, kicking the amputated limb that rested beside the body. His gaze reached Claire, but she refused to meet it. She just clung onto Chris, either too afraid to look at him or too afraid to face the impending confrontation. "Don't act like you don't know me, Claire," the boy then voiced, and he sounded distant.

Claire pressed in her lips, preparing herself to speak. "Wesker released this freak, didn't he?" she asked, and she managed to look down at the Tyrant's corpse, still twitching.

Steve wiped some blood from his face and simply replied, "Yeah."

"_Why_?" Claire demanded, but she didn't need an explanation, not where Wesker was involved.

Chris untangled himself from his sister's hold, standing on his own. "The same reason he released those Hunters on Rockfort and Antarctica," he grumbled with a clenched jaw. "He just wants to fuck with us."

Leon bent down to retrieve his gun, keeping his distance from Steve but taking a moment to examine the dead Tyrant. Its ripped and tattered corpse put a knot in his stomach. He was used to fighting and destroying these monstrosities, but he didn't know how to react to the massacre that had just taken place. Steve Burnside was infected, something which Claire had failed to initially mention. Leon didn't think it was a piece of information easily forgotten. With the virus in his body, Steve was probably just like Wesker. He had superhuman strength, a horrible kind of power that was exercised with violence and cruelty. If he had torn apart another infected creature so easily, how was it possible that Steve could interact with humans? Exactly how much control did he have over himself?

Upon returning from Rockfort Island, Claire described Steve as a teenage boy, someone who was often childish and naïve. But, she had also said he was kind and sweet, and he had earned a special place in her heart because of all he had been through; he was supposed to be a good person. Leon had once thought he possessed a good judge of character, but after Ada Wong had manipulated him in Raccoon City, it was hard for him to trust his instincts. People weren't always what they seemed, he often reminded himself. So, why was it that this Steve kid clearly exuded nothing that Claire had described? Why did he genuinely look and feel dangerous?

"You can stop staring at me at anytime," Steve ground out, piercing a disapproving look at Leon. When he saw how shaken Leon reacted to the hostility, Steve moved forward, and his eyes glowed against the shadows as he reached out, offering his hand, which was still coated in blood. "Fine, if you want to be formal, then, hello. I'm Steve Burnside." He grinned, relishing in the fear in Leon's eyes. "And, you're Leon, correct?"

Leon shrank back, repulsed by the red mess that stained Steve's hand. He couldn't let this kid get to him, though. He quickly rearranged his expression, becoming more composed and stern. "What did you do to Claire?" he demanded, raising his gun.

"Nothing she didn't want. Or, in other cases, deserve."

Claire saw Leon tense up in preparation to defend her honor, but she quickly interjected, "Leon, don't. Let's try to remain calm. There's no point in killing each other."

"This guy is fucking insane, Claire," Chris persisted. "Please tell me Wesker didn't screw with your head, too." Still leaning against the wall, holding his arm, he gave his sister a pleading look, and there was unwavering faith in his eyes, which both frightened and relieved Claire.

"What did he tell you?" she calmly asked, but she dropped her gaze, unable to look at him.

Chris shook his head and scoffed. It sounded nervous, however, and Claire knew her brother was already half-believing whatever Steve had informed him about. "He said that you're working for Wesker! That Wesker has Sherry, and she works for him, too! Shit, Claire, he said that you two went to Rockfort Island again and that you… that you _killed_ Rebecca!"

"Wait, _what_?" Leon stammered. "What does Rebecca have to do with any of this? She's working undercover. There's no way that Claire could have been anywhere near her!"

Steve let out an annoyed sigh, walking several feet away from the trio and slumping against the wall, bored. He originally thought it would be quite amusing to watch them interrogate Claire, but this whole night felt so long and tiring, and all Steve really wanted to do was leave. With Wesker.

"Chris," Claire began, an audible tremble in her voice, "I don't even know where to begin with everything that has happened. At the Umbrella presentation, I ran into Steve, who was sent by Wesker to investigate their research, just like you guys sent me. And, I thought everything would be fine if the two of us just left together, so we did, and all the sudden, Wesker caught us. He brought me to his company's facility, and Sherry was there, and even though I wanted to escape, I couldn't just _leave_ her with Wesker."

Steve heard only half of her ramblings, and he bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing a laugh.

Heavily, the Redfield sighed, and she sounded completely exhausted. "Wesker kept toying with me the entire time. He planted this document for me to find that said you had been caught trying to find me and were imprisoned on Rockfort Island just like I had been. And, Wesker wanted to go back to the island to find research on one of Umbrella's new projects. Rebecca _was_ there, Chris. Rockfort was where she had been working undercover."

From where Steve was loitering, he couldn't see either Chris or Leon's expression, but he had a clear enough idea of the dismay written across their faces. Claire's world was crumbling down, and her desperation to explain the situation should have been poignant, except that all Steve could think about was the proclamation she made days earlier. She had promised to take responsibility for her actions, yet here she was, constructing excuses and distorting reality.

While Chris remained silent, Leon whispered Claire's name with uncertainty. They both knew what Claire was about to unveil, and Steve turned his head, watching the scene with interest.

"It was important for Rebecca to follow all orders so no one would suspect that she was working undercover. She had to sign off on the experimental trials some of the prisoners were subjected to, and I really thought you had been one of them, Chris. I thought she was responsible for your death, and I just went insane, and I… I…" She breathed in, overwhelmed by the story she was telling. "I've never stopped hating myself for what I did. Chris, you have to believe that I never intended for it to happen. I didn't want _any_ of this to happen, but being Wesker's prisoner for weeks—months!—was torturous, and I was really starting to lose my sanity!"

Time and time again, Claire had rehearsed her speech to Chris. She knew it would be complicated, and she knew it would all sound so inane, but only now did its difficulty really strike her. Fear had constituted her inability to attempt an escape from Wesker's clutches, and while his manipulation had been present, it ran only half of the mile Claire had allowed herself to be used. The explanations for her behavior were only within her own greed, her own foolishness, and she would never blame Chris if he completely hated her.

The silence she had suspected would last longer suddenly broke, and Chris said, "We need to get out of here, Claire." He moved away from the wall, holding his limp arm that had long ago gone numb. "Umbrella is already suspicious that we're in the city, but Jill managed to arrange for us to leave the country in a few days. We need to find a new location to continue investigating Umbrella." His tone was direct and precise. He showed no forgiveness, just dismissal. Chris didn't want to hear any of this right now. It would be dealt with later.

"Jill?" Claire echoed, furrowing her brow. "I thought she was arrested… I saw the newspaper article yesterday."

"She was," Leon answered. He sounded far less collected than Chris, and it showed in his refusal to take his untrusting gaze away from Claire. "She hired a bond broker to post her bail, and she left to go back to America this morning. She may be fleeing the charges, but we're already in hiding from Umbrella, so it really doesn't matter. We're supposed to meet up with her in New York."

Just as their conversation was beginning to lose Steve's interest, he heard footsteps. Slow and balanced, the sound was almost inaudible, and it was hard for Steve to focus when he still felt dizzy and tired. His wounds were still fresh, and he didn't know how much blood he had lost at this point. Still slouching on the floor, Steve looked up, and the relaxed stride he had heard belong to Wesker, who had just reached the end of the corridor. He looked satisfied upon seeing the Tyrant's corpse sprawled across the floor, a pleased expression that remained when his orange eyes observed Chris, who was visibly wounded.

"It's good to see everyone here is currently behaving themselves," he greeted, and the voice tore at the atmosphere, causing Claire, Chris and Leon to turn in a trained defense.

Leon drew his gun again, and Chris immediately pushed Claire behind him, a protective gesture that worked in unison to his aggravated call of Wesker's name. The blonde man kept his smug grin, then peered down at Steve beneath his sunglasses. He was covered in blood, both his own and the Tyrant's, and an unorganized assortment of stab wounds were visible on his bare skin, including his hands and face. It was obviously the work of Chris, and it was disappointing to know Steve had successfully killed the Tyrant, only to receive such novice injuries from a human.

"At least you had no trouble killing this worthless creature," the man noted, still looking at Steve. "Congratulations, Steven, you're still the most competent T-Veronica subject."

"You're despicable, Wesker!" Chris shouted to him. "All you're doing is using Steve, making him your slave! It's disgusting!" Just _seeing _Wesker made Chris' blood boil, and he wanted nothing more than to completely destroy the man for everything he had done. "I don't know what you put Claire through, but I swear to God, you're going to pay for it!"

"Despite what your loving sister may have told you, there were really no issues with the living arrangement. She made her bed and cleaned up after herself, like any good tenant."

Steve heaved a small sigh as he pulled himself up from the ground. "You got Sherry's medical files, didn't you?" the boy asked, aggravated. "Can't we just fucking go now?"

"I thought you'd be more enthusiastic to stick around and hear Claire's testimonial," Wesker replied, raising an eyebrow. "Unless, of course, she's already divulged everything, and Chris was quick to forgive and forget."

The exchange between the two held familiarity, something neither Chris nor Leon had expected. Steve stood beside Wesker, absent of reservation, as though it was an ordinary occurrence, and they almost looked _natural _together. Was this partly an explanation for Claire's strange behavior? Had Claire watched Steve slowly betray her, choosing to live by Wesker's immorality instead of fighting against it?

"How the hell did you manage to find Sherry?" Leon then asked, and he took a step forward, still pointing his gun at Wesker. "You may have brainwashed Steve, but you can't turn Sherry against us, not after everything she went through in Raccoon City with Claire!"

Behind him, Claire pressed her lips together before saying, "Leon, just leave it alone. Sherry already made her decision, long ago."

Leon turned to face Claire, stunned by her words. "What are you talking about?" he yelled. "Sherry worshipped you! How could she just turn her back on you when you saved her life?"

Although Steve had stayed mostly indifferent towards the situation, this caught his attention, and he scowled deeply. "God, the two of you are just as self-righteous as Claire," he criticized. The grip on his bleeding forearm tightened as he glared at them. "You really think everything you do is fucking right, don't you? Sherry doesn't care about any of you. It's not that hard to grasp!"

Leon shouted a curse at Steve, and Claire once again tried to calm her friend down. She was trying to stop Leon from baiting Steve, but their quarrel persisted, diminishing into name-calling before the redhead completely lost it and ran forward to attack the older man. Steve knocked the gun out of Leon's hand at the same time the man fired. Sparks flew from where the bullet hit the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. Viciously, Steve began choking Leon, wrapping his hands around his neck with only the motive to _murder _him.

"Steve, stop!" Claire yelled. She pulled at Steve, managing to shove him off Leon long enough to stand between them. "What is wrong with you? For God's sake, what _happened _to you! You and I were supposed to leave together! You weren't supposed to choose Wesker!"

Steve pushed Claire, causing her to stumble back into Leon. "_You _weren't supposed to turn out to be such a sanctimonious bitch!" he shouted. "You act like you were the big fucking victim in all of this, but how the hell was it difficult for you when you made no goddamn effortto get away from Wesker?"

"You never tried to leave, either!" Claire argued. "So, don't you dare try to pin this all on me."

"Maybe I never wanted to leave! But, at least I have the courage to admit that!"

Claire laughed. It was a callous and complacent dismissal of his statement. "Of course you never wanted to leave," she remarked. "You just used me as your experiment before you figured out what you really wanted. Or, better yet, _who _you really wanted."

However, it probably wasn't the best thing to say, because she immediately saw how it affected Steve, whose body became rigid as his eyes hooded over with resentment.

"You used_ me_!" Steve screamed. "You acted like we were in this together, and you let me fuck you because you tried to make me believe you actually cared when all you were doing was using me as a distraction! I know damn well you would have left me if your brother suddenly showed up to rescue you, and you're proving that right now!"

The depth of their argument turned less petty, and they were reaching the more intimate, personal details, the ones Claire had previously wanted to forget. She could feel Leon and Chris hovering behind her, and humiliation swept the girl. The repercussions of her actions didn't end here; they were only starting, and Claire wasn't sure she wanted to move beyond this moment that was already destroying her.

Fueled by rage and hatred, Steve pushed Claire back once more, only to move away, where he stood closer to Wesker. "So, just fucking go!" he yelled. "I don't care anymore! Just _leave_!"

Wesker, who had idly observed the display with unseen intrigue, now watched for Claire's reaction. If she was hurt, she didn't show it. She seemed far too absorbed by the way Steve hid his face from her, standing next to Wesker as though the man offered him comfort and reassurance. Again, familiarity was conveyed between the two, and that constant reminder finally allowed Claire's pain to set in, paralyzing her for a long moment.

It was difficult for Claire to determine whether Wesker was looking at her with his eyes hidden beneath his sunglasses, but from his holster, the man soon removed the small device she had seen earlier. She figured now that the high point of her fight with Steve had fallen, Wesker most likely had something else planned, and she wasn't too surprised when he pressed a button on the device, causing a loud siren to commence from the corridor speakers. It was louder than the one from before, more threatening, and she had a terrible feeling this was it; this was where she would separate from Steve.

"What the hell did you just do?" Chris hissed out, taking a step forward.

"It's the security alarm," Wesker explained. "I would have triggered the self-destruct system, but since this facility is located in such a busy part of Toronto, I don't think it would be very fair to disrupt the surrounding businesses with such a critical explosion."

"Shit…" Leon muttered, watching as lights began flashing around them. "We need to get out of here."

"Wise idea," Wesker commented, a snide tone in his voice. "You wouldn't want to risk getting caught by Umbrella now that you've all been reunited."

Leon grabbed his gun from the floor and replaced it in his holster. "Claire, come on!" he ordered, realizing Claire had remained motionless, even when Chris began to move.

Before the words even came out, the question Claire asked—"But, what about Steve?"—already sounded like a hopeless possibility, and the girl was uncertain why she had even asked it.

"You said it yourself, Claire," Chris reminded her. "He's made his decision. We can't help him."

When Leon pulled at her arm, Claire shook off his grip. "_No_!" she yelled, pulling away from him. She turned to look at Steve again, a final desperation in her eyes that she couldn't explain. "Steve, please! You don't have to do this!"

The siren blared and the lights flashed, and Steve refused to say anything as he stood there, unyielding to everything that surrounded him in the chaos. Claire yelled for him again. Then, once more. But, there was nothing in between the siren's dreary echo.

"Claire…" Leon called out.

She stared at Steve, unable to move as she looked at him, convinced she had known him for an eternity when it had only been a meaningless fragment of their lives that were bound to go on for many other years. She was screaming inside, but it felt less painful than she imagined, this betrayal of her friend, someone she had come so close to loving. Somehow, this was how it turned out, and he was standing there with Albert Wesker by his side, the two of them allies, perhaps even something more.

There was a disconnection in Steve's returned gaze. He wasn't looking at her in the way she had grown accustomed. Steve was angry and hateful, and just as Sherry, he was nothing like the victim Claire once desperately tried to protect and rescue.

"We need to go, Claire," Chris urged, placing a hand on her shoulder.

So, finally, she moved. The moment Steve and Claire had just shared—that small, miniscule second that connected them, only to completely break them apart again—was over, and this was it, and their division officially began.

Claire knew she would never figure out exactly how Albert Wesker worked, but the relationships he had with others was an aspect of the man she had finally grown to understand. With Sherry and Steve, the trust and devotion Wesker earned was paralleled to the grounded, deeply rooted connection that had started the instant their paths crossed. There was principle and philosophy to their union, Claire thought. Steve was a tie to the virus running through Wesker's veins, and Sherry was a sentiment to the partnership Wesker had with Birkin.

The account of horrendous, unnerving events had already begun haunting Claire, and as her mind raced to decide which scenario could have prevented it all, the tears finally brimmed into her eyes, and she felt lifeless.

Everything would have been better, she thought, if only Steve Burnside had just stayed dead.

**End of Chapter Nineteen**


	20. Chapter Twenty

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed over the years. It is truly appreciated._

**Chapter Twenty:**

**We're All Fruit from the Same Poisoned Tree**

xxxxx

Outside, where the summer heat was at a temporary standstill in the wake of the morning, the sun had finally risen. It was nearing 7 o'clock as Sherry traveled back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, busy preparing breakfast. The house smelt like eggs and toast and coffee, and with the sunlight shimmering through the windows, the atmosphere reminded the girl of when she was much younger and the rare occasions her mother would make breakfast before sending Sherry off to school. It had happened only a handful of times, and Annette hadn't been a very good cook, but those memories were special to Sherry. Those were moments she would never have again. Sometimes, they felt so distant to her, unreachable in her mind, and she assumed the pieces of the present were slowly beginning to overshadow the past.

Sherry placed the thermal coffee pot over an oven mitt and neatly set it on the dining room table. She began rearranging the plates and silverware, trying to make the display appear presentable. As the centerpiece, there was a vase with faux flowers, a decoration Sherry had placed there several weeks ago. Ever since she had grown accustomed to cooking meals, eating at the table had become routine, and she thought the centerpiece made the environment look more homely, more natural.

When she took a step back, examining how the table looked from afar, the girl frowned. Today, Sherry had set the table for three. The fourth seat looked empty and purposeless, but Sherry knew she had made the right decision.

An hour ago, Wesker had called from The Agency's facility to tell her they were heading home. Sherry had been awake since 5 a.m., unable to sleep as scenarios brewed in her mind about the situation with Claire and Steve. Wesker's call had been quick and straightforward, and Sherry hadn't dared to ask any questions, but she knew two things for certain. One, Claire was gone. And, two, Steve was still with Wesker. It was just as the man had predicted, and Sherry was not at all surprised.

Claire didn't belong with them. She, like so many others, had simply been just another pawn in Wesker's game, and once her usefulness had expired, the man saw no other reason for her to continue living with them. Sherry wouldn't miss her. She was looking forward to one less person in the house. It would give her time to forge a relationship with Steve, something the two had never quite done with Claire standing in the middle. Steve could be annoying and downright rude, but outside his immaturity was someone whose company Sherry sincerely enjoyed. Their pasts were nearly identical, and now that Steve had finally dismissed Claire, they would have that in common, too.

Sherry didn't hate Claire, and while she had plenty of reasons to absolutely_ loathe_ her, she just couldn't get herself to feel that way. It was almost as though it would take too much effort, something Claire wasn't worth. Sherry just didn't _care_, and she figured Steve had probably arrived at the same conclusion as well. Like Sherry, a part of Steve would always feel connected to Claire, but they were moving beyond that sentiment, and there was no point in chasing after the past.

As her mind wandered, Sherry separated an equal amount of food onto the three plates. She had made French toast and eggs, a simple but filling meal until lunchtime. Just as she poured herself a cup of orange juice and set it down next to her plate, she heard a car door slam. They were home.

Bare foot, she made little sound as she walked across the kitchen and back into the living room. It was beginning to feel warmer in the house, and she anticipated another oppressively hot summer day. As she headed towards the large window, she rolled up the sleeves on her blue blouse that she wore to go along with her pair of pleated shorts.

Sherry pushed back the large curtain and looked outside. Wesker was carrying a thin manila folder in his hand, which looked like it had a disc attached to it, but Steve wasn't holding anything. He had a distant look on his face, detached from everything, and he was just slouching as he followed the older man to the front door. Neither of them were talking.

When Wesker unlocked the door and entered the house, Sherry straightened her clothes once more before walking up to them. "Um, good morning," she decided to say. "I made breakfast." She gestured behind her, where the aroma of food and coffee was located.

Wesker briefly looked at Sherry. "You didn't have to," he said to her, but it didn't sound demeaning or angry.

"Well, I said I would," Sherry reminded him.

Behind Wesker, she looked at Steve again. He wasn't wearing the same long-sleeved shirt he left in the night before. Instead, he just had on a simple white t-shirt, and his arms were bandaged. Dried blood coated most of his uncovered skin, including his face and neck. They were knife wounds, and although they were already scarring, the abrasions looked painful.

"Wow, someone stabbed the shit out of you," she noted dryly, still giving him a once-over.

Steve's jaw clenched, but it seemed to be a reaction to the memory, not Sherry's words. "Fucking Chris Redfield," he muttered. The boy moved past both Wesker and Sherry and sat down on the couch to remove his combat boots. "I just want to go to bed."

"Well, you could at least eat the food I made," Sherry voiced, raising an eyebrow as she watched Steve throw his boots onto the ground. There were tears in his pants, and the stab wounds seemed to continue on his legs, too, including the upper part of his thighs. Slightly amused, she asked him, "Don't tell me Chris found out you slept with Claire and tried to castrate you?"

Wesker made an amused sound in the back of his throat as he removed his sunglasses. Sherry took a moment to look at him, trying to spot any wounds that he may have endured. He looked fine, though. Maybe he hadn't been a part of the fight or hadn't cared to intervene. She was suddenly very curious about everything that happened. However, both of them looked and sounded very tired, and she knew they hadn't slept all night. She would ask questions later, she supposed.

"I doubt that stupid asshole even cares," the redhead grumbled, and the distant look on his face returned. "I think he already forgave Claire for everything she did, including killing Rebecca. God, what a joke…" He stood up, tightening one of his bandages and taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"I guess the Redfields can do no wrong," Sherry concluded, following Steve into the dining room. She sat across from him in her usual seat and watched as Wesker placed the disc and manila folder on the counter. "What's on the disc?" she asked.

"Your medical records," he answered.

Sherry furrowed her brow. "What?" she stammered. She looked at Steve, who didn't seem to find the news shocking, like he already knew. "Is that one of the reasons you went to the facility? Of all things, why did _they_ have my medical files?"

"Umbrella's medical database is normally only for employees," the man explained, "but your father was very untrusting of putting your health in other people's hands, or at least those who did not belong to Umbrella."

"There's some irony for you," she murmured.

Wesker moved towards the table, where Steve and Sherry were already beginning to indulge in their meals. "You probably can't recall many of the appointments," he continued. "Most of them took place when you were younger."

Steve, who was only half-listening to the ongoing conversation between the two, began picking at the scrambled eggs before him. Not particularly hungry, Steve was just busying himself by moving the food around on his plate, pretending to eat when, in reality, his attention was focused on his injuries. He was staring at his arm, allowing his eyes to trace over the dried blood that had seeped through the bandages. Steve no longer had the energy to get worked up over the matter, but humiliation still plagued him. Even though Steve had done far worse on his opponent, he hated the fact Chris had been able to injure him at all. He couldn't feel too disgraced, though. He succeeded in dismantling the Tyrant, and that alone seemed to please Wesker.

It shouldn't have mattered what Wesker thought, but after everything that happened with Claire during the course of the night, his opinion _did _matter. At least, it did to Steve. Claire, regardless of any circumstances, always had a cause to fight for, and she was surrounded by people who joined her in that battle. She was reunited with her brother, and she would continue to attempt to take down Umbrella. Steve didn't need to witness it to know.

Deep down, it still hurt, because the rejection was brutal. Steve wanted to lash out, and he had come fairly close when Wesker had stopped by The Agency's facility before they arrived back at the house. The facility seemed to be filled with memories of Claire, though in comparison to everywhere else, the time they had spent in the building was miniscule. It had only been when Wesker had helped bandage Steve's arms that the boy relaxed, feeling more inclined to stay calm than let his emotions overtake him. Similar to how Wesker had treated his wounds on Rockfort Island, the man made Steve feel safe. The difference, however, was that Steve no longer had the ability to run back to Claire. And, for once, Steve was appreciative of that. Around Wesker, there was more than just the sense of security. Steve was reminded of the strength he possessed because of the virus, and there was understanding in the connection he shared with Wesker, a type of intimacy.

At one point during the otherwise silent interaction, Steve found himself asking, "Is it okay if I call you Albert, now?" The man hadn't responded, too busy applying the bandages to Steve's arms, but the boy knew the question was enough to grant him permission, or at least commence the start of a change.

With limited energy, Steve lifted the thermal coffee pot and filled the mug that rested beside his plate. Wesker finally sat down, and for a brief moment, Steve remembered the night the power had gone out, and the four of them had sat around the table, playing a mindless game that had only resulted in name-calling and insults. Something in that memory was happy, and Steve smiled to himself. In any other lifetime, it could have been a frequency made into reality.

"What do you think Claire is doing right now?" Sherry eventually asked, but her tone was clipped, more accusatory than anything else.

"The extent of her emotional trauma is up for debate," Wesker offered, "though I doubt she'll let that get in the way of carrying on with her life. A smart move, I suppose."

Steve said nothing. Instead, he poured Wesker some coffee. Black, straight up. He remembered this was how the man drank it.

"Then, I guess everything is back to normal," she decided.

Sherry was right.

Somehow, the familiarity in this moment already felt appropriate. It was pedestrian and reserved, but it was genuine to who they were and where they belonged. And, while Steve couldn't be certain, he had a feeling it would remain this way for a very long time.

**The End**


End file.
